Change on the Horizon
by The Leaf 180
Summary: A flash of white light, and everything changes. When an accident leaves Shizuo paralyzed from the hip down, he loses the will to live. It takes a little help from an unlikely friend, who is struggling with guilt of his own, to set him back on track.
1. Lightning Strikes

**Yes, this is going to be a multi-chapter story.**

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><p>Lighting streaks through the sky, a low growl from thunder is not far behind. Rain spills from the angry gray clouds, renewing the empty streets of Ikebukuro.<p>

There are but two figures, untouched by exhaustion, flit through the vacant city. A clap of thunder vibrates through the desolate streets, but the men pay no heed, focused on the on the chase, the hunt, and hopefully then the kill.

The information broker wears an arrogant smirk as he slinks through the labyrinths of buildings. He sprints effortlessly on the sleek sidewalk, glossy with rain. His mind is fast and calculating, his eyes are sharp as they dart from side to side.

He misses nothing, not the illumination of light through the streets, guiding him through neither the storm, nor the blinding rain as it pelts him, stinging his eyes as he jets through the deserted city.

Izaya listens to the music of the storm, hearing it swing out into a staggering forte before dissolving into an almost inaudible drizzle. He hears the decrescendo of thunder barking in the distance and the hiss of lighting dancing across the bland gray ceiling.

He hears the torrent of rain pommeling the sold ground, and the steady pulse of his feet hitting ground, matched by the reliable thud of Shizuo running.

Izaya pushes himself faster, weaving his way around a corner, wanting to keep a safe five meters between them. The world blurs by him, colorless buildings merging as he flew past them. A snarl of thunder that sounds a bit like Shizuo howling his name urges him on, and he glides effortlessly around a corner, neatly swinging into a curve.

Izaya feel his shoes skid on the rain soaked sidewalk, and he uses its momentum, catching himself on a wall of a building. He presses himself up against the wall, flattening himself, hiding himself in the shadows, wanting to morphed into the wall and disappear and leave the world wondering how he did it.

He fingered the blade in his sleeve, imagining it lodge into Shizuo's chest, then Izaya lazily dragging it through his ribcage, piercing lungs and slicing flesh, a spurt of blood rewarding his efforts, gushing down his victim's front and the gleam of pearly white bones as they jutted out in unnatural angles.

He anticipates Shizuo's arrival, imagining him glide ungracefully on the wet ground, straight into Izaya's knife and at Izaya's mercy. Or maybe he would try to turn sharp and fall flat on his face, leaving his back vulnerable, he would pounce, thrusting his blade in as deep as it would go, streams of crimson oozing from the wound.

A relentless roll of thunder builds up as it has its way with the city battering everything in its wake. Light blazes through the sky, and the thunder purrs, rumbling up from deep within and pouring out into the open air. The rain cascades endlessly, bubbling and swirling in little eddies as it floods the streets, overwhelming the gutters.

Each round bead, so delicate, but with enough force, they can destroy lives. He blinked rain out of his eyes, cursing the ceaseless torrent of water for distracting him. Where was Shizu-chan? What was taking so long? He waited a few more heartbeats, curiosity getting the better of him. What was Shizu-chan planning this time?

How interesting, Shizuo seemed more of a straight-forward kind of guy, never one for strategies or patience, for that matter. Izaya cautiously peers out from his hiding spot, craning his neck and struggling to see through the sheets of rainfall. He hesitantly took a step out, his whole body dedicated to the alert, ready to go at any moment.

He searched for the bartender through the downpour, trying to select the slightest movement other than the fall of the never ending precipitation. He finds nothing in the thick shower. He is tense, ready to dart back into his hiding place at even the slightest hint of activity. But there is nothing. And then he is suddenly aware of the loud silence.

The rain dipping into a soft drizzle, but the storm was far from over. If Izaya was naïve, he would think that he was the only being out there for miles. It certainly felt that way. The hush is only occupied by the constant shower. Izaya snorted. The brute probably got lost.

But then, the thunder cackles ominously in the distance, as if it were laughing at Izaya's thoughts, chiding him for believing he got off easy. Suddenly, the sky flares, and lightning strikes overhead too close for Izaya's liking. It ignites the sky, shedding enough light so that he could just see… a figure in the distance.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as it did when the fortissimo of Ikubukuro was near. That was what he liked about Shizuo. He was the only one that did that to him. He watches the figure tear a stop sign from the ground as if he was plucking a weed in a garden. What did that stupid protozoan think he was doing?

Their eyes meet for a split second, and it is all the warning Izaya needs. He lets the flick blade fall into his hand, ready to wield it. The next moments are set in slow motion. Izaya bends his knees ever so slightly, preparing to dodge and dash off into his chosen escape route. Shizuo lunges, throwing his arm forward his mouth stretched into a yell that is met by deaf ears.

And then it happens. Izaya's blood runs cold and his smug grin falters for a moment and he is helpless to do anything but watch. A burst of light shoots from the sky and attaches itself to the pole conducting its self-down into the brute. Shizuo's fingertips still grazing the pole, the white light catches onto him and envelopes him in a beam of concentrated electricity.

Izaya stiffens and his eyes widen a fraction. Izaya holds his breath as he watches in mutual horror and sick fascination as the fortissimo of Ikubukuro crumbles before him. Shizuo folds into himself, his lets buckling underneath him. Izaya can see the whites of his eyes as the brute collapses, limbs splayed out carelessly like broken twigs.

Izaya snaps out of it, stumbling backward, catching himself on the wall. He closes his eyes, but he cannot block the look on Shizuo's face. That look of panic that lingered in his eyes in the moment before it morphed into one of someone who knew they were about to die.

He is suddenly aware of the silence once more, he can heart it through his thumping heartbeat, which he was almost sure was audible by now.

It sends shudders down his spine, Shizuo was not coming after him, he was not going to get up and roar into the water filled sky and shake it all off like it was nothing. Izaya forces himself out of his daze, making himself relax, letting his breath go.

It forms wispy clouds in the already moist air. Izaya stays rooted to the spot, though he knows he should move, go check on his rival, get help, run away, do something.

He shakily picked up his foot, placing it in front of him, shifting his weight and dragged himself over to Shizuo lethargically. He knew that Shizuo's life was on the line and he could lose him. And Shizuo was probably spending his last moments on earth while Izaya was taking his time.

Izaya stopped abruptly faced with a choice that would prove to be a tough one.

He could do one of two things, leave the brute in the storm, where he would surely die, leaving the task of discovering his corpse to some other unlucky soul. Then they can stumble upon him when the storm finally subsided, drenched and cold and without a doubt dead. Izaya knew he would be framed, but he wasn't worried, he knew the police couldn't touch him. He even had an alibi this time, he couldn't control nature.

He could flee now and get off with nothing but the guilt of knowing that did nothing. That there was a possibility, no matter how small it may be, that Shizuo was with the living but Izaya didn't give him a chance before he left him for dead.

Or the final option, he could go check on his rival, to make sure he was dead and if he wasn't…What then? Kick a man when he's down and take him out of his misery, or call the hospital and let them take care of it?

The thought of calling Shinra and letting him patch Shizuo up without the cost was tempting, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no way for Shinra to get out here in this horrible storm and that all depended on if the stupid protozoan was still living or not…

But Izaya knew what the danger of moving him was, it was a crucial job. One mistake could tip the balance between life and death, there was a thin line between life and death, and this would be like smothering that silver lining, erasing all hope that there would be a tomorrow.

His chances of living were dancing on the edge of a razorblade. One slip up could lead to disaster.

Izaya makes a decision, telling himself it was only out of the sheer hate he felt for the man, reviving him and getting him help just so he could find the right time to kill him, right when he was at his strongest. Izaya pushes himself forward, shoving aside the heavy dread that was crippling his heart.

The air is charged with a nervous energy, and it makes Izaya sick.

He tells himself that if the he was right, and the bartender was really dead, then he could leave and it would be fine because Izaya did all he could, and not even he could bring back the dead. Izaya chokes in air, willing himself to breathe, wishing that Celty was out on her daily rounds so this would be her problem and she could deal with this instead.

The information broker slowly eased himself onto the ground next to Shizuo. Taking in his pale face, pushed to the side after it slammed against the pavement. Izaya knew he had to make the next move, and check the pulse.

_Just do it _He told himself. His instincts screamed at him to get away, that it was not safe for him to be this close to anyone, especially not the man that was out to kill him.

Izaya was reluctant to touch him, expecting him to snap back into life and smash the informant into the wall, effectively killing him upon impact. The death would be quick and painless and Izaya would die a death fit for a fool, the image of Shizuo's angry eyes burned into inside of his eyelids.

He the touched the blade in his sleeve, reassuring himself with its cool surface under his warm fingertips. He let it fall into his hand, just in case… He was prepared to use it to its full extent, wielding it with the expert touch that only he possessed…

Because he always had to expect the unexpected, he always had to be on edge, ready with an answer for every question that should arise. That was what his years of associating with his humans have taught him, it was a lesson he dared not forget.

The downpour fades into the background and it is replaced by the blood roaring in his ears. Static electricity snaps through the sky with a crack and the information broker shivers. Hesitantly, the informant pressed his fingers to Shizuo's neck, not knowing what he wanted.

He struggles to keep a tight rein on his composure as he kneels over his enemy. He took rash, light breathes, heaving in air in a hope that some of it would reach his lungs.

The air is poisonous with anticipation. He tries to even out his fluttering heartbeat and wills himself to channel his full attention to the daunting task ahead. The moments pass slowly and soon, Izaya admits defeat.

He is about to pull back, but a dull thump is felt beneath his fingertips. He almost thinks he imagined it, but then it is felt again, as if to assure him that there was still hope.

Izaya's heart both soared and plummeted for reasons he did not know. Now he was responsible for whatever happened to Shizuo. His tight shoulders relax a fraction and he knows he would never have lived with himself if he had chosen to flee.

The knowledge would weigh him down; the thoughts would torment him, swirling around in his head and granting him no peace. They would have claimed every waking moment he had, he would be replaying the moments in his head like a horror movie where he could not rewind.

How he left Shizuo in the storm even though there was a chance that he could have been alive and breathing. If he had done something, _anything _to help, it could have made a difference. Shizuo had at least half a chance but Izaya didn't take it and because of that he was dead.

He knew that if their places had been swapped, Shizuo would have done whatever he could for his rival. Because Shizuo was like that, and the two of them together, were the greatest of combinations. Shizuo would have never given up on him; Shizuo never gives up on anyone.

He didn't know if he could forgive himself, because contrary to popular belief, he was never sure if he really wanted to kill Shizuo, manipulate and push his buttons yes, but killing was going a little far. He just wanted to throw obstacles at him and see how far he could push himself.

He shook that train of thought from his mind, Shizuo was not dead, he was not going to die, and there was no way Izaya would feel such remorse for the man who yearned for his end.

But a silky voice, purrs in his head, telling him that Shizuo was laying right there in front of him, so close to death that all he needed was a little push off the edge and he would be gone from existence forever. And Izaya was just the man to ensure that he was dead.

The opportunity was right there in front of him, the knife in his hand, and all he had to do was take the plunge and it would all be over. He knew that if he left now he would be guaranteeing the death of Shizuo, but he could not get himself to move. He could not turn his back. He would not run away from someone who needed him.

With a sigh, Izaya pocketed his knife, and took out his phone. The raindrops slithered down the bright screen like tear drops, and Izaya brushed them off, smudging the screen with more water as it continually tumbled down from the sky.

He dialed the simple numbers leisurely, taking his time in pressing each one. He sighed, putting the phone to his ear.

This was where things would get complicated. There would be questioning, and maybe even an investigation, because there was no way anyone would believe him. He did make a living off of lying, after all. Then people would wonder and rumors would spread and the real fun would begin.

Izaya makes himself comfortable next to his longtime enemy, prepared to wait out the storm that rages above their heads. Izaya thought back on the past events that have taken such a drastic turn, and soon the night is alit with blaring sirens and glaring lights.

He does not stay long, silently sinking back into the shadows, right where he belonged.


	2. Inevitable Results

**I don't know if Izaya's office is also part of his apartment, but in this fic it is~ Prepare for a somewhat human Izaya (Impossible, I know)**

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><p>Two months. It's been two months, almost three now, but who was counting? Two months, eight weeks, sixty days, one thousand, four hundred sixty one point seven hours, and five billion two thousand fifty nine four hundred eighty three seconds, but who's counting? Certainly not Izaya. Each moment drags on painfully slow, and Izaya finds himself worrying about certain protozoan more often than his pride will let him admit.<p>

The informant knows that two-three months isn't all that long and it could go on for who knows how long. He tells himself that he'd better get used to it, because it was going to be a long wait. He'll adapt, and he'll survive, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

Tomorrow will be the three month mark, now that he thinks about it (like he wasn't thinking about it already) October will plunge into November, and the temperature will drop with it. He hopes that the change will come smoothly, one month slowly merging into the next, lapsing closer into the end of the year in a quiet conclusion. But if anything, his life has been far from quiet, that fact was certain. It shifted unexpectedly, tipping the scale and throwing everyone off.

Although Izaya like to say he was in charge of everything that happened in Ikebukuro, (because he was, for the most part) Even Izaya himself was no match for life's curveballs.

He just as shaken as the next when something traumatic happens, but the difference between him and those _humans_, was very simple. He could regain his balance faster than he should and so, making it seem like it was all part of his plot. But those times were rare.

The chances were like one in a million… like the chances of him winning the lottery… or of freezing to death in an foot of snow… or getting struck by lightning mere seconds before letting a stop sign projectile become airborne…

No. He wouldn't-couldn't-shouldn't think of that. He would stop thinking about that brute, it was unhealthy.

But his point was, the chances were slim if you were prepared for it. He would freeze in a foot of snow if he wasn't prepared; but that would never happen because Izaya is always prepared. It was a fact. It was as reliable as the fact that the sun would rise and the rain would fall and the stars would shine.

It was as proven as the fact that a certain protozoan was laying comatose as he blabbed on about meaningless topics.

There. He said it. Shizuo (his chest felt strange when he said his name, so he's been avoiding it) is dead to the world, lying in a hospital bed, and no one was quite sure when (if) he would wake up.

He was one lucky monster, that was for sure, a man of less would have died, but Shizuo had always been full of surprises. (Why past tense?) He got off with a coma, but the extent of the damage was unknown, or so Shinra says. (He lies)

He hasn't visited Shizuo. (Why did it hurt so much?) That's not what enemies do. He was kept informed by Shinra, and occasionally Celty, but there wasn't much to say. He doesn't know if they're telling him the whole truth, but that is to be expected when you work in Izaya's line of business.

He didn't know why they kept telling him about the brute, it wasn't like he cared and it wasn't like anything would change. He had found his days to become quite boring, the results of "the accident", as people were now calling it.

There was a yawning gap in his day where Shizuo had claimed. The informant would suddenly find himself with absolutely nothing to do. It is then; he tells himself, that he would have spent leading a certain monster around his city.

He spends it drinking his tea, but how much tea will he drink before he decides that he's had enough?

And all of a sudden, Izaya's view on Ikebukuro changed. Although he hated to admit it, life was becoming a tad boring, dare he say it. Things were settling down, it reminded him of ripples in a pond, calming after a minor disturbance. Life's hiccups were small, barely worthy of his attention.

He had jobs to do of course, and he did them, but his skill in information gathering was lacking a smidge, but he pretended not to notice. He knew that he could call Shiki any time that he wanted a new assignment, but his boss had made it perfectly clear that Izaya needed to sort himself out first and call him back when he was focused and ready to do his job.

But really, Izaya was getting a little more than sick of all of it. Jobs were still coming in of course, but how many times can you research a husband cheating on his wife before it loses interest?

How many times can you talk to the same four people online before the conversations begin to merge?

How many times can you walk around the city before the views become natural?

How much Russian sushi can you eat until it all tastes the same?

How long will Shizuo stay in his coma before it seems like he never existed?

How long will it take him to forget?

How long was he going to sit around before he finally works up the nerve to visit the brute?

How long will it take him to stop thinking about him?

Izaya rubbed his temples, where a headache was forming. He sighed, taking a sip of his tea. It tasted sour in his mouth and left a bitter aftertaste that made his stomach churn with discontent.

He absentmindedly took another sip, spinning his chair so he could look out his window with ease. He was in his office area, filling himself up with tart tea and too much honey.

He had no desire to go outside, not anymore. There was nothing to do, And Izaya needed to give himself a job, before he started thinking too much. Because when he started thinking, his thoughts always ended up with Shizuo, and that was something he could not afford to do.

The informant glanced at his papers; everything was orderly and neat, just like how he left it. He tried to think of something he could do, but there was only so much cleaning his apartment required. He had nothing to do and it was only one o'clock. Seems business was slow today.

It wasn't that there was no one's business for him to stick his nose into, it's just that there's only so much you can discover about a person before their habits and patterns become boring. There's only so much you can get to know about a person before the faces blend together and they all are the same.

He chuckled dryly at nothing in particular, smirking as he lethargically heaved himself up out of his chair. He set his tea on his desk and stretched, the popping of his joints echoing through his vacant apartment.

He shuffled into his compact kitchen, pouring the remainder of his tea down the sink, watching it swirl away in a mix a bland russet liquid, speckled with tiny clumps of herbs. His smirk quickly faded as he watched it disappear, he set the cup down and ran his hand through his hair.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the loud silence, a tad emptier now that he had repaired the leaky faucet a week ago. And though he would never admit it… he was feeling a bit lonely. But no, Izaya doesn't know emotions; he cannot feel empty or sad. It can't happen. So what was this?

Namie hadn't come around today; he was fine with that, because there wasn't much for her to do anyway. She had taken a "vacation" (Basically her telling him to call her when business picked up, she'd rather be elsewhere) Of course she hadn't worded it so nicely, but that was a given when you were as grumpy as Namie always seemed to be.

Izaya didn't like the lack of noise in his apartment. There was a growing list of things he didn't like, things that hadn't bothered him before, like thunderstorms, for instance. The thunder was fine, and the rain he could handle, but lightning was something that reminded him of something else.

Someone he had promised himself that he would stop thinking about. Someone who was sleeping his way into his third month since the accident.

Sometimes when he felt that he needed the noise, he would turn the TV on as loud as it would go. It would thin the smothering silence a little bit, but it didn't make Izaya feel any better.

Of course, no one really knows just how much he thinks of Shizuo, because if they did, his reputation that he had worked so hard to build might come crumbling down, and he can't have that.

It's a little pitiful, how easily his humans believe in the mask he puts up and accepts his cocky façade. But that's what he wants, so why was he complaining? Why was he thinking like this? Damn Shizuo and his coma for making him all soft like this. It's disgusting.

He sits back down in his chair, and gazed out into the early pastel sky. He remembered how the days after the accident had been so serene, like today. He remembered how he spent every minute he could spare cursing it (Why couldn't the weather be nice like this yesterday?)

He remembered all the attention he had been getting, it was still buzzing around the streets. He was sick of it. Some variations of the truth were so wild that it was all he could do not to strangle the people. Gosh, humans and their gossip. Why can't they just leave him alone?

Eventually society got the point, right after he shattered that man's jaw ("Is it true that you saved Shizuo!" He squirmed just remembering it. Ugh.) He never was one for physical violence (That was Shizuo's thing) so he surprised everyone, including himself with that move.

So the only improvement was that no one asked him about it verbally, taking the hint that he didn't want to talk about it. But they asked him with their actions, he could see the question lingering in their eyes and the way they kept shifting from foot to foot told him all he needed to know.

He can hear the questions on the back of their tongues, so dangerously close from spilling out into the air and pushing him over the edge. Yes, Izaya was dancing on the edge of a razor blade, and Shizuo was a touchy subject.

At first, he was indifferent. That stage didn't last as long as he might have wanted, but what can he do? It was mostly shock, but once it was over, then came anger.

The informant is known for keeping an iron grip on his emotions, but behind closed doors he is as human as the rest of them. He doesn't dwell on that fact though. It was usually a few minutes of rageragerage and then calm once more.

He was angry at nature for taking Shizuo and placing him in a spiritual dead zone where even Izaya could not reach him.

He was angry at Shizuo for taking _so damn long_ to wake up. (Why won't he wake up already?)

He was angry at society for not minding their own business (Which is quite ironic, considering his line of business)

He was angry at his humans for going on with their lives when Shizuo was in a _fucking_ coma.

But above all he was angry at himself, so bitter and frustrated and all jumbled up that he didn't know what to do. Sometimes it made him want to scream. But no one would understand. No one. Ever. They can all try to be sympathetic, but in the end, it's never sincere.

Why did they have to be out that day? Why did Izaya have to tease the brute, lead him on, knowing that it would set him off?

Why couldn't he ignore him and just go home that one day? Just one! But no, he had to provoke Shizuo and lead him straight into the heart of the storm. (For all the genius he was worth, he couldn't see that coming?) Why does he care so much? Why can't he just forget about it and go on with his life? What was wrong with him? All these questions and no answers.

And every time he looked down on the bustling streets of his city he is reminded that something's missing, one piece of the puzzle that would send the whole project to pieces without it. Up on his perch, untouchable, keen to the city as it breathes. He feels like he can see everything, but now he knows he can't. It was no good.

You can't have one shard missing from a mosaic, one speck of paint, the fine line between an ordinary piece of art and a masterpiece.

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><p><strong>I have a question for you! Do you guys like faster updates and shorter chapters or longer chapters and slower updates? You can reveiw (which is always lovely) OR you can visit the poll on my profile. Thanks!<strong>


	3. Stretched Thin

**Not all that proud of this chapter~**

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><p>Izaya has changed. But that's not what he tells himself when he finds himself pulling on his jacket a half hour later. It's just a different Izaya under different circumstances. He refuses to sort through his life like files in his computer.<p>

His life is not going to be divided by times before the accident and after. He was going to go on with his somewhat normal life to the best of his ability. But he conveniently forgets that fact when he leaves his apartment only a half an hour after resolving not to do so.

It was just that he quickly discovered that he could not stand to be alone with his thoughts for another day, because in order to change how you are you must start with your thoughts. And there was no way that he was going to change to match his thoughts.

It was not possible.

So he was just going for a walk. He was going to go in the complete opposite direction of the hospital and end up at the park eventually. But then he changed his choice of destination a minute later when he saw Celty there texting someone because business has been slow for her to because there was nothing for him to tell her to do. And normally when she wasn't doing any jobs she would be with Shinra or talking to Shizuo. Shinra was probably working and Shizuo…

No. He wasn't going to think about that. He left to clear his head, and that's just what he was going to do.

So he looped around, avoiding the park and pretending not to notice the huge movie posters of a certain someone's brother…

But then he finds himself walking along the bustling streets, shouldering his way through the noisy humans, agitated by their cheery nature. A grimace almost unnoticeable to anyone but him was plastered on his face and he didn't see Tom-san until he nearly walked into the man.

Tom glanced up, his eyes igniting with recognition. "Oh, hey Izaya."

Though he said it with guarded politeness, Izaya could feel the awkwardness in the air as keenly as he could feel his switchblade in his pocket. They both knew what was missing. They both knew how rare it was for them to get a chance to talk. They both knew how there used to be a man dividing them, throwing vending machines and growling his name into the air. But now they could both be civil, a constant reminder of the accident.

"Tom-san" He nodded, his smirk somewhat downplayed compared to his usual sneer.

They stood in silence, both not wanting to be the first to strike conversation but not wanting to be the first to leave. Izaya's heart as throbbing painfully just at the sight of Tom. All his unwanted thoughts came flooding back, and it took all he had not to cringe. But he is stronger than that, and something as petty as Shizuo wouldn't shake him.

"So… How's business?"

Izaya knew Tom knew what he was really asking, what he really wanted to know. He didn't care how his business was doing, but how he was doing his job without the aid of Shizuo.

"Ah…" he sighed, "I've been getting by."

It seemed times were tough for everybody. Izaya bit the inside of his lip, gnawing on it just so he could have something to do. He really didn't mean to be rude but it was so hard to push words out with a choking lump growing in his throat. He was afraid that it could make his voice crack and make it seem like he wasn't in control or sad or something. But that was preposterous.

He kept his eyes downcast "Well, I'll let you get back to work." He said curtly, taking a step around him.

He heard Tom mutter "Yeah, see ya." But he had already rounded the corner and didn't give it a second thought. Why was it so hard to talk? What was wrong with him?

He was sure that Tom had noticed something off about his disposition, and now rumors would be spreading around like the common cold. Stupid, he cursed himself; he's never let anything get to him before, why was he so messed up now?

Was it really Shizuo that was causing all this? What that really all it took to throw him off? That was pitiful! It was laughable! (So _why _can't he pull himself out of this rut?)

Izaya has never worried about Shizuo because they were enemies and you don't worry about your enemies. And he wasn't worrying, and that was that. Maybe if he kept telling himself that he would believe it.

He didn't have to worry about Shizuo having problems that might take his play toy away, because Shizuo didn't have any. (He guessed he took it for granted) He never worried about anyone killing Shizuo before him because that man was indestructible. (But not untouchable)

He never worried about anything but himself because he had his hands full already and his toys could look after themselves. (Or so he thought)

He walks a few more blocks and is feeling a little better by the time he walks by a newsstand. He doesn't mean to look but he does and is instantly reminded of what the headlines were about two (Almost three) months ago. Something about the city's strongest man struck comatose… He was honestly sick of it. Just thinking about it put him in a sour mood. (So why couldn't he stop?)

Someone had shoved the article in his face like he didn't know, like he wasn't there; it took everything he had, every ounce of willpower within him do not strangle the man who dared bring that subject up. (What was getting into him lately?)

And then he goes back to his apartment only to have Namie casually bring it up like he should be happy or something. He had swallowed nasty remarks and opted for pretending he did not hear.

Izaya stormed off, cursing the city and the memories that held him captive. He needed a break, a vacation, a change of scenery, _anything_ to just get away from the suffocating feeling he felt in his chest when he walked outside. He wanted to be free again.

Somewhere deep down in his subconscious he knew that the only way to relieve himself of this weight was to visit Shizuo. But whether he was unconsciously repressing the fact, or just choosing to overlook it, he did not know.

The next time he looks up, he is at the last place he wanted to be. A large white building looms over him and he knows what it is and what he's trying to tell himself, but he's not going to listen.

He wants to leave but something pulls him, telling him that he needs to be there. He thinks he's going insane. He knew he was blocking the entrance, but he could not go in there. He had often thought about it but actually doing it as a different thing.

But he was already there and he was looking for a way to kill time. It couldn't hurt right? He'd just swoop in for a glimpse, share a small hello that would remain unheard, and he go could on with his day. And then he would feel a little better and he could actually go on with his life…Right?

The informant glances around to make sure there is no one he knows in sight, and he knows a lot of people. They all seemed occupied at the moment, and Izaya frowned, wishing for an excuse. He took out his phone to make sure that no one called him; but of course no one had. (What was he expecting?)

The brunet shook his head, and took a step towards the entrance.

_Just put one foot in front of the other _He told himself. _This will all be over before you know it._

The doors slid open for him and he is assaulted with the smell of the hospital, the perfume of chemicals forever stained in the walls, the untainted white, walls, uniforms, tiles, everything about this place bothered him.

He took another step.

People were milling about, but he sets his sight on the Registration and Reception counter. The woman at the counter did not look up as he neared.

She had russet brown curls that rolled over her shoulders and into her eyes, and cobalt blue eyes concentrated on the computer screen under a screen of auburn. She had a pen behind her ear, revealing ivory pearl earrings.

She kept her eyes trained on the moniter as he approached. "How may I help you?"

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, not skipping a beat she spoke to him. She tapped the keys as if it were second nature, her eyes glued to the screen.

Izaya scowled, despising her lack of attention. How many people could sneak in on her watch? How many weapons could be smuggled? This was an accident waiting to happen. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched, not meeting her eyes as he answered her question.

"Shizuo Heiwajima." He muttered curtly, forcing a smirk onto his face.

She glanced up and blinked, obviously recognizing him. She hummed as she shuffled through the contents in her desk, digging out her visitors' tags. She reached for her pen with one fluid movement.

"Your name?" she requested, though he was pretty sure she already knew full well who he was.

"Izaya Orihara" He answered stiffly.

The only noticeable response was a quirk of an eyebrow, but other than that she appeared unfazed. She lowered her gaze as she bent over the tag, scribbling his name in in a somewhat messy scrawl.

The lady grinned at him as she handed the tag to him, "Room 312." She informed him.

He took it nonchalantly, and turned away before she could give him directions. He'd figure it out. Something about that lady irked him. He pretended not to hear as she called out a "Have a nice day!" He was visiting a hospital god-damnit! How could he have a nice day in a hospital?

He sighed as he walked away, crumpling the nametag in his hand and tossed in in a garbage can as he rounded the cornered. He wandered aimlessly, thinking but also looking out for an escalator of some sort, assuming that the brute's room would be on a higher floor.

His feelings of discontent were lifted for a moment, as he was distracted when talking to the lady, but they resumed in full force as soon as she was out of sight. He sighed again. (Why was he sighing so much? It made him sound old and sad.)

What was he doing? Why did he think he could find some sort of comfort here? How could he think that he would find closure in visiting the man who wanted him dead? (It's not the first selfish thing he has done, and it won't be that last.)

As he walked along, A sense of despair and mix of something else had taken residence in his hollowed out core, it stung in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down, and growing, spreading like a rash, slowly taking him over until he was wasted away.

It's been there for a while, but it gets irritated the closer he gets to the man he wishes to forget.

Of course, he calls himself crazy to think such thoughts; he thinks he's losing his sanity. (But you can't lose what you never had) And he's trying so, so hard to cover it, but it's him that is feeling its effects over time. He'll get by, but it'll prove to be a hard wound to heal.

But then he scolds himself for getting all physiological on himself. Why was he such a deep thinker all of a sudden? (What has changed?) Why was he so in touch with his emotions? (It almost makes him feel human. A revolting thought, really)

He ended up finding an escalator, and proceeded to navigate his way around the hospital, but in the end he succumbed, and asked a nurse for directions. She kindly pointed out the way and didn't notice his lack of nametag, but he wasn't about to point that minor fact out.

And there he stood, as he has been, for the past ten minutes. All his bravado faded away and he had to ask himself just why he thought it was such a good idea for him to come here. It's not like they could have a decent conversation, if he had felt like talking to himself he had plenty of brick walls to choose from.

But he couldn't just turn around and leave after finally getting the nerve to finally come here. He couldn't just go home and waste the rest of the day. He couldn't make an excuse, say "He just wasn't in the area" or "Had more important things to do" Because in reality, he had no reason to not come here. He had nothing better to do with his time, and he wondered if his life could really go on unless he faced this.

He had to do this. Shoving aside the dread festering in his heart, he pushed the door open, hoping that the rest of him would follow the lead and just get this over with.

He stepped inside, and closed the door tightly behind him, sealing away his escape route. He closes his eyes and sighs letting the smirk he had forced onto his lips fall to the floor.

He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the quiet in the room, interrupted only by the constant beeping of the heart monitor. The scene would have been considered tranquil, if not for the dire circumstances that had to be set to bring him there.

He makes his way to the blonde's side, gazing down on his still form. The brute did not seem to fit his name, lying there, dead to the waking world. His face had a slightly ashen hue and his hair seemed dull in color. The crisp, hospital issued sheets were pulled up to his chest, and his arm branched out to his side, where a thin vein-like IV pierced his wrists.

Izaya observed him silently, tracing his form with his carmine eyes, the music of the heart monitor his only company. He sees a man, known as the fortissimo of Ikebukuro (Ironically enough) that now seemed more like a pianissimo amongst the pristine sheets.

The protozoan, brute, and _his Shizu-chan_. The ex-bartender and current debt collector, passionate and aggressive with his clients. The legendary and feared monster of the cities, whose strengths was unrivaled by any other.

The fiery brash mold of a man who threw vending machines and garbage cans, plucked stop signs from the ground as if they were weeds in a garden.

The man who was now limp and unresponsive in the hospital bed, oblivious to his worst enemy lurking just above him. The man who was now going on his third month in a coma and no one knew when they would ever see him again, full of life like he was meant to be.

He remembered reading about comas. He had looked up everything there was to know. It did not help him to the slightest. But he did hear that comatose people are capable of hearing those who speak, albeit they cannot respond.

Although he didn't want to and he felt like a fool, he wondered how Shizuo felt (If he was capable of feeling anything in his half dead state) did he feel lonely locked in his subconscious all by himself? Was he slowly going insane, isolated and without human contact for three months now? He wondered if anyone ever spoke to him, the nurses that came to check on him or Shinra when he stopped by.

He wondered if Kasuka had ever found a gap in his schedule to visit his brother, if Tom had ever taken the time to see how he was doing. (What was there to see?)

"Hey…Shizuo." He murmured, feeling foolish for speaking with someone who clearly was unable to respond.

He wanted a sign that the Shizuo of old was still in there somewhere. Izaya had chosen not to use any of his pet names because… it was different this time. He didn't want to talk to the protozoan, or the brute, or the monster, or Shizu-chan… he wanted to talk to Shizuo. The one he and so many others have come to know.

He hated the silence. There was nothing to say now that he had the chance to say it. (But how could he sum up how the accident had hurt him too? How does he explain the guilt he has been feeling without sounding weak or pathetic, and know that Shizuo understood?)

He sat down in the chair near the bedside, resting his head on his hands. He decided that the best way to get his message across was to just keep talking and hope that the words would come to him and it would make some kind of sense in the end.

"I… I don't know how to say this… I don't know what you expect me to say…"

_Just forget where you are, pretend that you are speaking to him in person. But without all the teasing. Just say what you need to say_

"I don't know what to do with myself anymore; I can't walk outside or focus on my work. Everything I do reminds me of you, it's disgusting. I'm supposed to be better than this, ya know?" He gave a shaky laugh.

"I'm supposed to be in control… all the time, but there's nothing I could do about what happened to you. That's what people expect of me, to be cunning and sly… and everything should go according to my plans…" He grew quiet.

_This is stupid. It doesn't make any sense. He doesn't understand. No one does._

"But sometimes it doesn't work that way. Life isn't like that…. and I miss it." He went on in a quieter voice, barely more than a whisper.

"I miss our chases… And I miss the games we used to play… I miss seeing you around and pissing you off… I don't know what to do with myself."

He felt weak. Saying these things that no one should know.

"Why? Why won't you wake up? Why can't you come back and let me go back to my life? Why won't you leave me alone? Why did this have to happen to you? You're supposed to be stronger than that. This shouldn't faze you… What's wrong with you?"

He shook his head as if to release himself of these troubling thoughts.

"What's wrong with me? You don't matter to me. I don't care about you. Your fun to play with and that's as much interaction as we get. So why do I feel like this?"

He clenched, his fist, lapsing into silence. His heart was throbbing and a headache was kneading at his temples and frustration and agony racked him until there was nothing left of him but a shell of who he used to be.

He did not speak again for a long time. He looked at the sun through the window and felt more unsettled than he had in a long time. He was a mess. He gazes at his reflection in the glass, seeing but not believing.

Tired lines and purple shadows sagged under his eyes, making him appear gaunt and unhealthy. He watched the sun move from different points in the sky, shadows grew longer and the silence grew thicker. The longer he stayed that more agitated and restless he became.

"I thought this would help me. I thought I could be free of this… this burden. But it's not going away… I don't know if it ever will."

He looked back at the man in the bed, who lay oblivious to their conversation.

"Goodbye…."

He got up to leave, sparing one last glance to the comatose brute. His eyes are full of regret and sorrow, but no one will see, he will wipe it off and put up his mask before anyone has a chance to prove that Izaya Orihara is as human as the rest of them.

He pauses before stepping into the public eye again, not facing Shizuo, but knowing that he is the only one capable of hearing him.

"I… I hope I see you again, I really do."

* * *

><p>He awakens to the sound of his cellphone buzzing, and a wave of confusion sets in before he understands. Izaya flips open his phone, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he glances at his clock. It read 6:00 pm. After returning from his visit, he had forced himself to eat lunch, and then took a nap, hoping it would kill sometime and take him away from the pain he felt.<p>

"Hello?" He answered, trying to sound professional. His caller ID revealed that it was in fact Shinra that had called him, but all he could do was wonder why.

"Yes, yes, Izaya?" Shinra answered, Izaya could hear static in the background and he imagined the doctor with the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, undoubtedly busy.

"What is it Shinra?" He yawned, not quite awake. He let his impatience leak into his voice. He assumed there was a good reason for Shinra to be calling him, though he dared not hope. He shoved aside thoughts of Shizuo, scolding himself for letting his hopes get up.

"It's Shizuo… He's awake."

And Izaya's heart stopped.

"Celty had stopped by when he came back to us." Shinra blabbed on, oblivious to Izaya's silence. "He was all disoriented and they made her leave and wouldn't let her know the details. They aren't allowing visitors."

The line was silent as Izaya tried to find something to say, but his vocal cords weren't cooperating and his tongue wouldn't work and there was a lump growing in his throat. He swallowed it, clearing his throat and locating his voice once more.

"Thank you for telling me." He responded in a dead voice, forcing himself not to stutter.

He then hung up promptly, and fell onto his back as his mind picked up speed and absorbed this new information. The only coherent thought he could place was that things would get better, and life would go back to normal now… they had to.

But he was dead wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>Well it's Shizuo's birthda<strong>**y tomorrow (January 28****th****) and my present to him is returning him to the living world. Happy Birthday Shizuo~**


	4. Awakening

It was dark. That was something Shizuo had learned a long time ago. How long, he could not tell you. But what he can say for certain is that there is nothing, just a vast abyss of things not seen and things not heard. It was like a thick blanket was wrapped around him, abducting him from reality.

Silence hung in the air, ever present, broken only by his frustrated shouts and mutters, but none of that manners, because nothing changes. He doesn't know if it ever will. But he has learned to accept it. He was learned to cope.

He doesn't know how long he has been here. He doesn't know how long he will stay here. He doesn't know how to escape. But what he does know is little. His knowledge on the information is limited and some days he feels like he will linger here forever.

He is lonely, but he has adapted to the lack of contact with the outside world. He is unsure of exactly where he is, but if he had to guess he would say a compartment in his subconscious somewhere, reserved for emergencies.

His physical body isn't there, but his spirit roams, it's a funny thing. He can walk and see himself when he looks down, but it's fuzzy. His frame is blurred around the edges, mist rolling off him in clouds, as if a strong gust of wind could blow him away.

But there was no wind here. Here, there was nothing. And he was truly alone. He kills his time walking, not running. And talking. Sometimes to himself and sometimes to others that visit, even though they are unable to hear him.

Sometimes he speaks to his mother or his father, but they never respond, and he doesn't know what to think. He knows he is not dead. Not alive, but suspended somewhere in the in-between. He was teetering on the brink; he could step in either directions, now that he was at the crossroads. He knows what he would choose, but he seems unable to do it.

If Shizuo was honest with himself, he would say that he wanted death. But he was a liar. He wanted life so he could put Izaya in his place and wander around Ikebukuro with Tom and decline another offer for Russian sushi from the ever persistent Simon.

He wants to see Shinra's bubbly features and "Talk" to Celty at the park. He wanted to feel powerful again; he yearned for the strength coursing through his veins, granting him the power to uproot stop signs and vending machines.

But other than that, what was there for him to live for? There was no heartbroken lover waiting for him at the end of his trek, no child of any sort for him to return to. There was no one to help him hang on.

He had Kasuka, but did he really? He knew Kasuka cared, but his lack of emotions made it seem like he wasn't really there at all. He never changed, and Shizuo knew he wouldn't if he shouldn't return.

Izaya would surely faint from happiness, and go on with his life, aided with renewed vigor. He wouldn't feel anything else, relief maybe. Now he could prowl the streets of Shizuo's city as he pleased, crossing the boundaries with no limit set.

He was sure that Celty and Shinra would feel something akin to sorrow, but soon they too would get over it. They had each other. Albeit Celty might be a little grief stricken, she would get on with her life. They all do.

Shinra would help her and soon the memory of Ikebukuro's monster would fade from their minds entirely. Tom would of course be shaken that something so small could take down someone so big; but he would get by, and find a replacement.

There would be whispers, there always would, of a man with the power to throw machines around at his will, the legendary man of his city, where people knew to stay away if they valued their lives. In a way, he loved that. It's his own sick obsession on par with Izaya's. He loves the fear in their eyes when he knows that he has their lives in his hand.

But how many times will he go over these thoughts in his head before he drives himself mad?

How many times will he pace these non-existent floors in hopes of finding something?

He's lost, and he hopes someone out there is trying to find him.

Some days he has the sudden urge to go in a certain direction. He will hear its whispers, calling him closer, beckoning him with promises of light once more. He follows, in the dark (Literally) about what else to do, but when he arrives (or when he feels hes walked too long without finding something) There is nothing.

There will always be nothing. He's used to it by now.

Hes accepted it along with the rest of things he cannot change, like the everlasting silence or the lack of another's presence. He's adapted to it, the darkness and the nothingness, the empty feeling in his ears after not hearing another sound but his own for so long. How long has it been? Hes lost track of time.

He knows nothing, except for the tug in his heart that tells him to search onward. Sometimes he hears the whispers of the dead, but it sounds faint and far away. Some days are clearer than others.

Some day's he thinks he's going blind, and he feels like he needs to howl into the sky that he cannot see, to reconfirm the fact that he existed, that there would be a tomorrow, and someday he would wake up and be greeted by a sight that is not his personal hell hole that he had become aquatinted with.

It is then he is reminded just why he was scared of the dark as a kid. He was rendered useless as things go bump in the night and none of his strength would change what he cannot see.

In the beginning, this place was a little more bearable. Visits were many and the days spent here were shorter. That was when he had hope. That was a long time ago.

He doesn't want to stay here forever. Something is bound to happen sometime, and he will wait for the day. He will wait for the light, a sight for sore eyes, and let the air cleanse his lungs and mind once again.

He remembers every second spent here, He remembers each footstep taken. He remembers all the things he has said, and all the thoughts that went through his head.

He wondered if Celty ever found the time to visit. He doesn't know because he can't hear her, but he guessed that she would. He is her friend, and that's what friends do. Even if they are both at a loss for mean of communication. Maybe it is enough to be with him; although she isn't really.

He knows that Kasuka had come around once or twice. He faintly hears him telling his agent that "He'd be fine for now." But he isn't sure if it is reality or just his desires speaking for him, yearning to reach out into the physical world.

But apart from that Kasuka is silent; and Shizuo wishes he's say something. He needs sound. He craves for the comforting feeling in his ears and the rush of relief that he is not alone. Someone has come for him.

He is and isn't sure what exactly happened. He knows there was an accident, and he knows he had been with someone when it happened. But his last view of reality is gray rainy streets and then a flash of white, transporting him into the darkness that now held him captive.

He knew he would understand it if someone told him; helped him remember something. He needed all the details he could recover, when it seemed he had finally dug deep enough and found it, it slipped beneath his fingers and teased him with the torture of not knowing.

He has lost track of what is real and what is fake. He hears whispers in the dark and he is not sure where they come from. He sees images in the everlasting night and he is not sure who is life and who is death. He thinks he will run on forever, led by the ghosts of what has been and what is.

Visits become less over time. He hears nothing for a long time, only the chatter of a woman telling him, "Good morning Shizuo! How are you today?"

And he wanted to scream back "How do you_ think_ I'm doing!"

He assumed they were nurses, and he didn't really care who they were as long as they helped him hang on to the place he came from. But eventually, they too, fall into silence. And Shizuo is all alone. No one can reach him.

They abandoned him. They go on with his life when he is frozen, trapped, missing. And no one comes. And no one hears his pleas. And no one comes to his rescue. They forgot, but he has not.

He wants to remind them that he is not lost just yet; he wants to hang on for them. He will keep fighting this darkness until he can find a way back to them. He doesn't care if they have given up. He is not done living yet.

And someday there will be a dawn to end this everlasting night, and he will be whole once more.

He wonders that Izaya thinks of the overall situation. He wonders if the guilt is eating him alive or he feels nothing but overwhelming relief that one of his many enemies has been taken out of the picture.

Shizuo wonders how he sleeps at night, knowing that his Shizuo might never wake up. Does the fact bother him to the slightest? Or is he going on with his life, like nothing has changed and Shizuo isn't slowly losing his sanity within the binds of his subconscious?

Has he forgotten so soon? The games they played and the mutual hate they shared? Did the flea just… move on? Or was he chained down by grief and regret?

He hasn't heard from Izaya, he doesn't know where he is or what he's doing or what he's thinking. He doesn't know what he feels or if he even feels at all. He thinks, or at least the far more philosophical side of him does, that Izaya will come around one day. It isn't something Shizuo can decide, it's something for Izaya to choose.

Shizuo has all the time he needs to wait, so Shizuo believe that someday Izaya will come see him and he will face his demons. Shizuo will wait here until that time comes. He isn't going anywhere.

The day comes, and Shizuo is ready.

"Hey…Shizuo." A voice mumbled in his head.

_Izaya._

Shizuo smirks "I knew you'd come." He muttered into the air. He sat down in onto the floor, sitting crossed-legged loosely, leaning on his hands, waiting for Izaya to continue. He did not let his smirk fade, relishing the sound of a noise other than his own.

"I… I don't know how to say this… I don't know what you expect me to say…" Izaya sounded uncertain, and Shizuo is sympathetic. He doesn't know why he feels such empathy for his rival, but he is practically giddy with relief that someone has finally come back for him.

"That's okay. I'm listening." He murmured, wishing he could see the look on Izaya's face.

For the first time he was speaking to the man he sought to kill, civilly, not hatred of distrust poisoning his words. He never thought he would understand Izaya's ways, but he feels something akin to understanding as the informant fumbled with his words.

"I don't know what to do with myself anymore; I can't walk outside or focus on my work. Everything I do reminds me of you, it's disgusting. I'm supposed to be better than this, ya know?" An unstable laugh followed shortly after, muffled by the thoughts racing through Shizuo's head.

Shizuo tilted his hand, wondering what was happening, wishing he could see the informant, respond to him. He would give anything to tell Izaya what he thought of all this. But he never would have guessed that this was the way that the slippery, deceitful man felt.

Did he really say that he needed Shizuo to be around so he could function? Couldn't the man who constantly edged him on, do without for the time being? Did he really depend on Shizuo being there so much?

He never would have thought that his disappearance would have shaken the flea so thoroughly. But no, this was not the flea. This was a different side, someone he wished he could see more often. This was the real Izaya; the one he wished would visit more often.

He didn't mind a softer side; he didn't think it was weak at all. He didn't think Izaya could feel empty or disgusted with himself. He didn't know that he was always on his mind, taking him away from his way of living. Who knew?

Izaya was right. He was supposed to be better than this. That was what was expected of him, that was how he lived; always assured that he knew the answer. He never cared about Shizuo, so why was he so damaged over the accident? If anything, he should be happy that Shizuo was out of his life. What was going through his head?

He laughed along, softly. "That's right, you are crazy. I never could understand you. I still don't."

He smiled with content. He missed this, holding a conversation with someone other than himself. He needed this. He was feeling better than he had in a long time. He felt… hopeful. Someone remembered him, and that was all he needed.

"I'm supposed to be in control… all the time, but there's nothing I could do about what happened to you. That's what people expect of me, to be cunning and sly… and everything should go according to my plans…"

Shizuo glared into the darkness, slightly uncomfortable with the revelations or weakness that Izaya was sharing with him. This wasn't the Izaya he knew. The Izaya he knew always had a plan.

It seemed that things weren't going his way for once and he didn't know what to do with himself. Is that how Izaya felt? Survivor's guilt over something he could not have changed if he tried? That was how fate worked, Shizuo wanted to tell him. You have to deal with it.

It was nature, it was uncontrollable and no one knew exactly how it worked. All you could do was take what it threw at you and try to live your life as normally as possible. All you could do was carry on and make it through the storms. What happened to him wasn't Izaya's fault.

"I don't blame you." He said loudly, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could break out of his shell and reach for Izaya; let him know that Shizuo gave him permission to move on.

"You can go on, Just don't forget me." Shizuo continued. He wanted to hear Izaya tell him that he promised he would try. His eyes felt heavy with sorrow for the informant, an emotion he never thought he would feel for the man.

"Don't let this keep you down… I'm not worth it." He sighed, frustration setting a whine in his voice. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he had to be trapped here; it wasn't fair that Izaya had to be stuck in a rut. They both deserved better. But life doesn't work that way, he knows that by now.

Izaya doesn't speak for a while, and Shizuo strains his hearing ability to its max, willing the information broker to stay, stay with him. Don't go just yet. The silence expands, a yawning gap between them, and Shizuo is about to admit defeat and stand up and be on his way, when Izaya's voice sounded again.

"But sometimes it doesn't work that way. Life isn't like that…. and I miss it."

Shizuo gazed down into his lap, tasting the truth in every word Izaya said. He misses it to. He misses running and chasing and the feel of sunshine on his face and the city's music in his ear.

He missed the lively streets of Ikebukuro, he missed the feel of a cigarette in his mouth, the nicotine and smoke on his breath and he roamed the streets. He wanted it back.

"Life…" He mused, his eyes downcast. "It doesn't have the right to take that from me. I deserve living just as much as the next."

He needed it. He needed it like he needed air and he couldn't go on without it. The hollow feeling in his chest that he had been working so hard to patch opened slightly, its jagged edges rubbing against his being.

A bitter sense of loneliness swamped him and if Shizuo could, he would cry. He would cry because he wasn't a bad man. He tried in life and he didn't do anything wrong. He lost his temper, but was that really enough to receive a punishment as harsh as this? He's do anything to go back, break through the invisible walls that separated them.

"I miss our chases… And I miss the games we used to play… I miss seeing you around and pissing you off… I don't know what to do with myself."

The ex-bartender clenched and unclenched his fists frustration bubbling up from underneath his skin. No one should have to go through this. It didn't matter who, but this was torture. He'd kill himself before he went through this again. He needed to speak. Izaya needed to know what he had to say.

But no one can hear him. It's the most helpless feeling in the world and its killing him slowly. How long can he go on? He had hope when Izaya had come, but it morphed to restlessness when he heard what Izaya had said and there was nothing he could do to change it, there was nothing he could say to reassure him.

"Izaya!" He called out into the night, like maybe if he screamed loud enough someone would hear him and save him from this.

"I hear you! I'm here!" He shouted, desperate to hear something other than the echoes of his yells in the lingering night. The black swallowed his voice and muffled it almost as quickly as he had uttered the words. He took a shaky breath at the bleak situation that has loomed over him for so many moons.

"I'm still here." He whispered with rue, the silence carrying his voice away from where he sat. He hung his head, his blonde locks hanging in his face; but he was too miserable to care. This place truly was his personal hell. He could think of nothing worse than being stranded here. Was there no way to escape this?

"Why? Why won't you wake up? Why can't you come back and let me go back to my life? Why won't you leave me alone? Why did this have to happen to you? You're supposed to be stronger than that. This shouldn't faze you… What's wrong with you?" Izaya hissed.

Shizuo lifted his gazed, peering out into the dark, at a loss for what he could do. His eyes crinkled into half-moons and his eyebrows creased upwards as he searched his prison for something that could help him. He didn't know what he could do to ease Izaya's worries and vexation. His shoulders slumped and he felt like giving up.

"Izaya…" he beseeched. "Please… I'm trying…."

But his words were absorbed into the air, greedily eaten by the thick silence. He bowed his head, finding no way out.

"I don't know Izaya." He breathed. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Izaya could not hear him. His words were getting him nowhere. For all he knew he could be hallucinating. This could just be another step deeper into impending insanity. He was sick of this. He didn't know how long he could go on, nor did he know what to do about it.

Shizuo didn't know why Izaya was stuck in his memories of Shizuo; he didn't have an answer as to why Izaya could not get him off his mind. He didn't know why this happened to him, and he didn't know how strong he was expected to be.

Did people think he was invincible? Did they truly believe that he was immortal and nothing could kill him? He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he'd fix it as soon as he figured it out himself. He'd wake up as soon as he knew how. No one needed to suffer anymore. He would come back.

"What's wrong with me? You don't matter to me. I don't care about you. Your fun to play with and that's as much interaction as we get. So why do I feel like this?" Izaya sounded distraught, and the Shizuo of old would have found satisfaction in that bit of knowledge.

If he was in his physical body, he would surely have built up a kneading headache by now, but he did not feel angry, he felt stressed and hopeless, but all his ever-present anger had deserted him. He couldn't find anything worth getting upset over anymore. What good would it do?

"I can't help you, Izaya." He told the information broker, though there was no way for the man to receive his message. "This is something you need to sort out by yourself."

He could not help Izaya. He could not answer his questions and tell him what he wanted to hear. The informant would find no comfort here. He didn't know what he came here for, but Shizuo could not reach him, no matter how hard he tried. That was another fact that he was forced to accept. That was something else that he had to learn to survive knowing.

"I thought this would help me. I thought I could be free of this… this burden. But it's not going away… I don't know if it ever will."

Shizuo too, was silent, listening to the static in his ears as the conversation wore him out.

"No." He mumbled, "There's nothing I can do for you here." He closed his eyes in well-disguised pain.

"Goodbye…."

"Don't go… Don't leave me." Shizuo begged. It has been too long since he had heard the sound of another's voice. He wasn't ready to let it go yet. He didn't know when he'd hear it again.

"I… I hope I see you again, I really do."

"No!" He raised his voice.

Shizuo held his breath, waiting for Izaya to come back. He counted to moments that passed his bitter loneliness growing as he was alone again. But there was nothing. He wasn't coming back for him. He sighed as he heaved himself to his feet, preparing to subject himself to another round of blindly wandering. He tilted his head towards the sky, imagining his life as he left it and all the people in it.

"I'll find my way back… I promise." He resolved, speaking to deaf ears, well aware that there was no one around to hear him. Anything that he said in here would be his secret.

* * *

><p>He set off into the night, determined to find a way out of this madness and back into his world once more. There had to be an end to this maze. And as he travels through the darkness, he is overcome with this sense of purpose.<p>

It pushed him on, almost knocking him off his feet, he falls forward, and the ground fails to catch him. His startled shout is unheard as the breath squeezes from his lungs and he feels like his chest is going to cave in.

His lungs ache and his pulse slams in his eardrums; pounding in fear and the pressure is building in his chest. Can't breathe – he needs air. He's going to suffocate; oh god, he's going to die. This is the end. Mind was growing hazy – the static is increasing. Heart thumps harder and harder and harder.

He's reaching the limit – he cannot take anymore; his lungs are going to explode and his heart would burst. It's too much – he can't take it. He needs the strength – he needs to live.

And then there is light, shocking and piercing, as he is unused to it after so long in the darkness. He opens his eyes until they are half-lidded, and he slides his gaze throughout the room he has fallen into. His tired mind cannot process anything at the moment. It goes against everything he had learned while he was locked within his mind.

There is white… A white room… He sees something… A person? He or she jumps, as if startled and then runs out of the room. Shizuo is confused, and so, so lethargic. He just wants to sleep. He sighs, he had gone through so much, but it seems his trek was finally at its end.

The fact that he was home was the only thing that makes sense at the moment. It is all he knows.

It is here, he would stay.


	5. Begining and End

It's been two minutes and thirty six valuable seconds since Shizuo came back to the living. He's taken many deep breathes and he cherishes each one. He wiggles his fingers and is mesmerized by each moving digit. He blinks and is astounded when his eyes obey him.

His body feels heavy, and he assumes that it's just because he wasn't used to his physical body yet. He doesn't really remember how he had spent the time he had missed. He can remember people coming to visit him. He can recall hearing their voices and being unable to respond, but that is about all he can remember. His memory has failed him.

There is one thing that Shizuo wants to do more than anything though, and it frustrated him to no end that no one seems to understand. A lot of nurses had come in, and a doctor or two here or there. They were checking his vitals and talking to him, but everything was going so fast that he had gotten lost in the sea of the conversation a while ago.

He gazed at them numbly, wondering why one of them hasn't gotten him anything to drink yet. His throat felt like sandpaper, he needed water. His slow mind could distinguish at least that much.

One of the ladies return with a glass of water and they help him sit up, grasping him by the armpits and hauling him into a sitting position and a voice in the back of his head reminds him that he was not a complete imbecile and did not need to be dragged around like such. The lady held the glass to his lips, tipping it back and allowing a small trickle of water to leak down the back of his throat, replenishing his airway. While he wants to grab the glass and chug it, he hears one of the many nurses beside him chiding him, telling him to take it slow.

His vision was blurred and he felt like he had been thrown through a meat grinder, but he was alive. Alive. Living and breathing and communicative once more. It was the best feeling in the world. He keeps his gaze locked straight ahead, not seeing things, just marveling at the color that had entered his view after so long.

He's missed colors. There wasn't much too see in his room but every sharp white corner held his interest. Every dot on the ceiling tiles and line on the floor he spent counting mattered to him. Every plain white hospital garbs and all of its wrinkles was a sight for sore eyes. And he hasn't even looked out the window yet.

He was not paying attention to the people around him as the poked and probed at him he did not feel their cold fingers on his skin. He did not hear their voices; it was more like a rush of sound that flooded over him like a wave. He waited for them to be done, so they could give him an answer as to why he had control of every inch of himself above the hip and not below.

The doctors are talking to him, scribbling on their clipboards but he does not hear a word they say. The lady next to him, who was talking his pulse, chitters nervously and it is a sound that grates against his ears.

The people are frowning at him, or at least in his direction. He gave a grunt in a response, hoping that his curt response would show them that he was still responding and understand that they were talking to him. The doctors sigh and write more on their clip boards before they give him a weary smile. The nurses filter out along with them, save one. She pulls up a chair and sets her clipboard on her lap.

"Can you hear me, Heiwajima-san?" She asks, catching his eye.

He nodded, trying to get his tongue to move. It felt fat and limp in his mouth and he wasn't sure what to say after being silent for so long. How long has it been? It could have ranged anywhere from two days to two years and he would not have known the difference.

She adverts her eyes to her papers as she writes something with a ballpoint pen. "I will require a verbal response Heiwajima-san, if you are capable."

He scowls, deciding that he did not like the lady. Her tone was less than friendly or sympathetic for someone who just emerged from a coma. He clears his throats, buying time to think of something to say.

There was so much-too much that he needed to know and not enough time to get all the words out. Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, begging to burst out into the air in and endless torrent of things he needed to know. He selected one carefully, chewing it thoughtfully before releasing it into the air.

"How long has it been?" He drawls, his voice husky and low. A complete transformation from the norm he was used to.

There. That was it. His first words in however long. Five words, five words that reached another's ears. Five words that made sense and would finally get him an answer. Five words that he did not have to shout in frustration.

The lady hums. "Today is Wednesday, October 31st, and it is 6:37pm. You have been comatose for almost three months, since August 2nd." She replied, not skipping a beat.

His head spun as it absorbed the information. Three months? He's missed three months of his life? Three months that he would never get back? Three months wasted? Three months where the earth spun and the sun shone and life went on and he missed out?

And what about hospital bills? He felt fear and panic rising in his throat, and emotion he has long since forgotten. There was no way he could pay for these hospital bills. He could barely pay for his rent alone. And he was months behind on his work for Tom and how long would it take for him to work up the money to pay for all this?

And why hasn't he regained feeling in his legs yet?

The lady was quiet, waiting for him to absorb the information. "Do you remember what happened, Shizuo-san?" She queries, but her voice sounds far away, and Shizuo could barely hear her through the blood roaring in his ears.

Of course he remembered what had happened. How could he forget? He is seized by a flashback, and he watches it flash before his eyes. It is a horrible movie that he cannot tear his eyes from.

_*Flashback*_

_Shizuo knew roughly two things at the moment. One, that it was raining and he better not slip and fall on his face like an oaf, and two, that today would be the day that he would kill Izaya Orihara, and wipe the streets with his arrogant little face. Who'd be smirking then? Him. He would finally be victorious._

_His veins are pumped with adrenaline and it pulses through his being. He strives for the kill, vaulting himself off slippery sidewalks with only one purpose. He keeps his eyes trained on his victim, zeroing in on the flea's backside and cutting the cords with the outside world. _

_The bellow of thunder goes unnoticed as Shizuo runs. He was made for this. Hunt, catch, and the killkillkill. Rage is seeping into his gaze and he once more understands the saying about seeing red. _

_Energy courses though his being as he devotes himself to his one goal. Knock down that man who carries him too highly, show him where he really stands, crush his skull like an eggshell and snap his bones like toothpicks and scatter the remains in every corner of the city. _

_Snuff out the virus that plagued this city._

_But no, the louse takes a sharp turn, diving in an alley. Shizuo's crazed smirk grows and a plan begins to formulate in his head. He needed a weapon. _

_There was not a doubt in his mind that the flea was laying wait with a switchblade that thirsts for his blood and a smug sneer that both kills and revives him, makes him live and gives him death every time he has the misfortune of laying eyes on it. _

_It gives his heart a beat and his eyes a shine, along with burdening his tired mind with a headache and a mouthful of smoke and cigarettes._

_He veers off to the side, casting his eyes on a stop sign that so desperately needed his yielding. He grasps it in his palm and does not pause to marvel at the cheap metal and how it creases under his firm hands. He tears it from the ground without a second thought and falls back into line, heading straight for the man he wished to kill. _

_He sees the ignorant informant poking his head out as he neared, and felt a sick satisfaction as to the image of the stop sign impaling the flea's head. He imagined the look of surprise that would be thrown on so quickly that the informant would have no chance to catch himself. _

_A rewarding spurt of blood would pour to the ground, because head wounds bleed a lot; Shizuo knows from experience. The discarded sign that slices through a man's skull, propelled at such a speed that there was nothing that could ever hope to stop it. Stained with the blood that marked his victory. And the streets would be free of Izaya Orihara's watchful eyes._

_But just as he was about to set the sign on its way, put his plan into motion and make his fantasies a reality, a bolt of white hot energy engulfs him, surrounding him in a world of pain so he knew not of which way was up and what was down and what he was supposed to be doing anymore. It is sudden and he is unprepared as it burns him. _

_He crumples to the ground without a fight, shoulders shuddering from the after affects. Agony drills into him and his body spasms as electricity crackles in his ears. A searing pain is absorbed into his body and he becomes it. _

_He feels it stinging his skin and singeing his hair and scorching every inch of him until every breath is uneven and shallow. Every thought is incoherent and scrambled. And every part of him radiated pure agony. He was wrapped in a cocoon of constant pain, ringing in his ears and kneading in his head and sending pricks that feel like needles up and down his legs. _

_He does not know that that would be the last thing his legs would ever feel._

_*End of flashback*_

Shizuo tears himself from the scene and forces himself to mumble "Yes."

The lady smiled sympathetically. Shizuo was getting sick of all the damn smiles already. Smiling wasn't going to give him three months of his life back. Smiling wasn't going to help him regain feeling in his legs and smiling wasn't getting him any answers. He was no fool. They didn't need to hide anything from him and cover it up with a smile. He was a man now. He knew he could take it.

Strong. He was strong.

That meant that he could find the courage to ask, and he would have the strength to take whatever the answer was. That meant that he was strong enough to have his world flipped upside-down and make it through the rubble.

But that was only a figure of speech. It's not like something like that would actually happen. Things like that only happen in books and movies. Not in real life. And not to someone like him.

The nurse opens her mouth to ask another question, but he cuts her off, taking the straight forward approach. He wasn't going to waste any more time.

"What's wrong with my legs?" He growled, his insides twisting as he anticipated all the possibilities.

The woman recovers quickly after being interrupted and forces a grin, her smile downplayed a bit. "Ah… well it seems that you have been…" her voice softens. "… Paralyzed from the waist down. I'm so sorry."

Everything stops. The air thickens like it does when something traumatic happens and Shizuo's eyes widen until they are round like saucers. He never would have guessed. He should have known. But no… That was impossible.

Words dry up in his throat and he can feel his skin paling a few shades. The lady does not meet his eyes. No, he wanted to beg her, make her tell him it was a joke, tell him that she didn't mean it…

But no words come out because it feels like someone has his airway in a chokehold. Shizuo is very familiar with that feeling. It was the feeling you get when someone punches you in the gut and you try to take a breath and make yourself live but it just won't work.

That was it. This won't work. The pieces didn't fit. He didn't return to life just to have something else taken away from him. He didn't come back just to be told that he would never go anywhere anymore ever.

He keeps moving his jaw, grasping for words that wouldn't come. Any happiness or wonder he might have been feeling vanished. What was the use of this body if he could never walk again? What was the use of working arms and fingers if he would never get the chance to do anything with them? What was he going to do with himself?

He felt panic building. Hospital bills. How could he pay hospital bills if he didn't have a job? How would he get by? How?

One side of him wants to cry. That side is his calmer, more peaceful side, as his name suggests. He wanted to cry because this just wasn't fair and how could this happen? How could this happen to someone like him, someone so strong, someone so feared...?

That side is at a disadvantage and is almost always ignored. That side of him wants to cry and moan and curl up into a ball of self-pity and misery. That side is his more reasonable side and also the quieter side.

He knows the other side of himself. All of Ikebukuro knows this side of him. That's all they know of him and all they ever will know. That is the brash, war torn side, as his temper suggests. That side almost always made decisions for him and is always listened to without a second thought.

That was the side of him that made him want to scream and throw things that shouldn't be thrown and flail his arms around and be violent and cause whoever he deemed responsible for this a hell of a lot of _pain. _

That was the side of him that made him want to throw a fit like some little kid and scream until his mad was gone. But his mad was never gone. He should know that by now.

Another thing he should have known by now, was that his legs were never going to work again and he should have known it from the moment his eyes snapped open. He should have been the one to break it to himself that he would be a prisoner to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

And he would never run again. He would never feel the wind in his ears and in his hair and everywhere around him. He would never feel the world beneath his feet as he propelled himself off grainy, storm colored sidewalks. He would never trail that stupid-crazy Izaya all around the city and he would never get to kill him.

He was finished. The rest of his life was already written out for him. He would waste away in a chair forever unless boredom didn't kill him first.

This was the end of him. This was destroying who he was and everything he has ever known. This was taking his way of life and running it into the ground. This was stealing away everything he could have ever actually enjoyed in life.

This was driving a stake into his heart, twisting it further and further until he couldn't possibly take it anymore, and then discard him in the corner to rot. This was chaining the monster to the ground, gluing him to a chair and sealing away all his freedom.

He was trapped. Forever.


	6. Falling

**Oh hell yes angst alert. The plot is forming slowly but surely. I'm going skiing tomorrow so I won't be writing that much but I'll find time! Just a heads up! I wanted to get this one out before I leave.**

* * *

><p>Things were going downhill. He didn't think it was possible for things to get any worse, but he was never known for his intelligence. It's like in those books he used to read where someone says "What could possible go wrong? And then everything goes wrong. It was one of those.<p>

When people think of Shizuo, they think of violence and anger, red hot, always burning. When people see him on the streets, they stay away because where Shizuo walks, destruction follows.

And when people see a certain informant and Shizuo at the same time, it's already too late. Then there's screaming and running and flying vending machines and nothing good ever comes out of it.

When people think of Shizuo, they think of rage. But there is another side of him, it is what remains when you take a man and strip him of everything he ever had to live for. It's what happens when you burn him down and wreck him and dance on the ashes and rubble. It's the aftermath of an earth shattering, life quaking event. It's when you lose things you didn't know you had, and then hurry to gather up what little you had left.

It's also known as depression.

This is Shizuo now.

It's been a week. Or two. But maybe it's only been a few days. He doesn't know the difference anymore. He's home. He has been for the past week or two. They had him out rather quick. They said they were "stunned" at his recovery rate. They shipped him out in a wheelchair.

He does need someone to take care of him. He'll admit to that. There's a hospital issued woman that comes by to check up on him in the mornings and the night. Her name was Besana. She has tight black curls cropped short, amber eyes that twinkled when spoke.

She was around Shizuo's age, but maybe a little younger, now that he thinks about it. They talk at night when he can't get to sleep or she doesn't have any plans. She seems to like him, and he's gathered a lot of information about her. Besana seems like a quiet girl, but he has found that she can be quite animated when she speaks of something or someone that she has a passion for.

She doesn't like oranges, they smell sour and she thinks it's annoying that you have to make sure you get all the seeds out before you take a big bite. She adores the movie star Yuhei Hanejima, which Shizuo finds amusing. She has seen all of the movies that he was in and can recite some of his lines by heart.

She's impatient and loud and talks every second of everyday and it leaves Shizuo's head swimming. She works at the hospital because she likes to help people and make friends with the patients. Her favorite color is red because it's striking and rash and she likes that.

She doesn't like sports, and she finds cats moody and timid. She likes dogs because they are always ready to play and have fun, but she's never had one because her apartment doesn't allow pets.

He doesn't particularly care for her, but she's the only contact he has with someone and he's grateful for the company. She doesn't seem the least intimidated by who his is or the rumors she's heard.

Apparently her seven year old brother sees him as a god-like figure and looks up to him, which Shizuo finds cute. Besana says there's no wrong in needing a little help at times. He thinks it's just a feeble attempt to cheer him up. It's not working.

The afternoons are the hard part. It's been arranged so that someone can come check on him during the day, like a babysitter. He wants to be stubborn and whine and get angry, revive the person he used to be, but anger doesn't solve anything. It never has. Anger doesn't give him the use of his legs or a job to pay bills or something to do with himself for the rest of the day.

Sometimes Shinra comes around and sometimes Celty does. He's even been stuck with Tom for an afternoon, and it's awkward to say the least because he doesn't work for Tom anymore.

They had talked about it, and Shizuo couldn't do his job while he was stuck in his chair. He could only go as fast as his arms could propel him. He couldn't go fast enough to chase fleeing "clients" and he couldn't reinforce his threats when he was cut down in size and his reach was limited.

So now he was out of a job. Tom had given him some money although Shizuo tried to decline. Tom had said that he knew money would be tight for him in the future and he wanted to help. Shizuo thinks its pity. And he hates it. The debt collector said that they could still be friends but Shizuo can't seem to find a way to talk to him without remembering what he has lost.

There's been a lot of change. He has to get used to it. He has to get used to looking up to people when they talk to him. He had to get used to not being able to reach anything in his home. He has to get used to a lady he doesn't know helping him dress and wash himself.

It's beyond embarrassing. It's humiliating. It's degrading. It's disgusting. And a little part of his pride dies a little more every time. And he knows it's not fair for him to think this way and he knows he needs to start thinking differently but everything's so damn hard all of a sudden.

Every simple task becomes a mountain of work. He's struggling to hold on to his independence. He is struggling to hold onto himself. He's incompetent; he can't do anything for himself. It's killing him.

His days are spent loitering around the city, although that quickly lost its shine. It is then he realizes just how boring his life is. He has no hobbies. He has no friends. He has no life. He had his job and he had his freedom, and now he has nothing.

He visits Shinra, albeit there's only so much of that man he can take at one time. He finds himself going there far too often because he has absolutely nothing to do. He finds himself leaving far too early because that guy drives him up the wall sometimes and how can he be so damn happy?

How can he be happy when Shizuo is miserable? How can he go on so jocular and upbeat when so much has gone wrong? How does he do it when Shizuo can't find a way to cope?

He also has a hunch. Just a hunch, but somewhere deep down inside he knew he was right. He doesn't want to admit it though. Just admitting it would mean that he really has nothing to do with himself anymore. But if he was honest with himself he would get the hint and leave Shinra alone for a little bit.

He goes over there too much, and although Shinra understands and tells him to come over whenever he needs to, enough is enough. He hears Shinra as he talks to Celty. He can hear through the door, it's not that hard. Shinra has work to do and Shizuo was "distracting" him, in short. They were trying to think up a way of letting him down nicely and tell him to get a hobby or read a book or something.

So like a good boy, Shizuo turned his wheel chair around and pushed himself back to his apartment. Tom didn't need him around. Shinra didn't need him around. No one needed him around. Why was he still here? What was the point?

He's fallen so low. He feels like a ghost in the city as he wheels himself through the crowd. Nobody sees him. He's drowning in a sea of faces and he can't stick out. There's nothing special about him anymore.

The majority of people just stare. Like if they stare at him long enough he'll disappear and they'll say "Oh I knew that couldn't be real. Things like that don't happen to _the _Shizuo Heiwajima, The fortissimo, the monster of Ikebukuro" Like he's better than that. Like he's not human like the rest of them. Like he's above them somehow and things like this don't touch him.

Most people look down on him with "compassion" and "sympathy", like they know what he's going through though they don't, never have and never will. They smile at him like they think that'll give him a new reason to live or something.

Some people are downright rude, spitting at his feet and giving him obscure gestures. He's sure it's because they recognize him and he's probably ruined their property or thrown them around the city like a human missile.

He's probably destroyed their lives because they couldn't pay their debt, he's probably landed them in the hospital because he walked around the city doing as he pleases like he owns the damn place.

He's no better than Izaya.

Speaking of which, Shizuo hasn't seen Izaya lately. He can't even begin to think of a reason why, he had thought Izaya to be the kind of man to kick him when he's down, shove him deeper into the inevitable depression that hangs over him like a cloud. Like a cloud that belches thunder and lightning, zapping him and killing his legs.

He has thought about what Izaya had said, mulling it over in his head until his head aches from thinking too hard. He's written it down and tried to find any hidden message to explain why he's been avoiding him, but Shizuo can't seem to figure it out.

The words didn't seem like a farewell, but maybe he was missing something. He knows that Celty keeps in touch with the informant and he wants to ask her exactly where he is, because he knows she knows. He doesn't want to bring up the flea if he can help it.

When he thinks of Izaya many unanswered questions spring into his head and an unsettling ache grows in his head from the need to know more. Celty and Shinra and Besana have told him all that they know. But he thinks this is something he needs to find out for himself. This is something that he needs to ask Izaya.

But the flea is nowhere to be found and Shizuo need to know.

Loneliness and uselessness grows inside him, festering like an old wound, filling his heads with thoughts that leave him awake at night and refuse to let him rest. He feels it every time he wakes up in the morning, like a heavy blanket was draped over him and weighed down his movements.

There is a split second after he awakens in the morning and he feels like everything is fine, but he is reminded of just how much went wrong when he tries to move his legs on his own. And then it all comes rushing back, like a nightmare he can't wake up from. He's living it. Aside from the bitter emptiness and sorrow he feels, there is not much.

He doesn't know how long he can keep it up. He doesn't know how long he will wheel himself around the city before he finds something to do with himself. How long will it take him to accept the fact that this will be him for the rest of his life?

He will never run, and it is a fact. It is a fact like the sky is blue and Shizuo is in despair.

The truth hurts; he doesn't want to believe it yet. Maybe if he doesn't believe it, it won't be the truth any more than it is a thought in Shizuo's head. Maybe he'll be a medical miracle and wake up and shrug off this paralysis like it was nothing. It hurts to imagine too. Because his fantasies will never be a reality and he's never going anywhere with his legs again.

He needs a job. He's put out a half-hearted attempt for a job. Not caring and knowing that he won't get one anyway. Knowing that even if he actually managed to get a steady job, it won't be worth it. It won't last. Nothing ever does. He should know that by now. He should know a lot by now; but he still doesn't.

There's still so much he needs to learn.

He doesn't want to live like this. He doesn't want to start over like this. He doesn't want anything anymore.

* * *

><p>Bills are piling up. He needs a job. Besana warns him that he could get put in a home. He stays at home too much. All the time now. He's sleeping in his wheelchair. Doesn't mind. There's no difference.<p>

Besana doesn't talk to him anymore. She comes in silently and does her job silently and cleans silently and then leaves silently. He hasn't asked her to clean, but things are getting dusty and he's struggling to stay afloat. She doesn't say a word. He's not a good person to be around. Never was.

She tells him he's a changed man. Maybe it's true.

Still no sign of Izaya. Shinra comes by and tries to coax him out. Shizuo tells him to get out. He listens. And now he's alone. No one comes by. They don't want to see him. He doesn't want to see himself.

He does want company, but he wants company that won't judge him or feel sorry for him every time he sees them. He wants someone that will treat him the same. He wants to look at someone and not be reminded of how much was ruined.

He's sick of this. All of it.

He's bitter and he's mean and he's negative and he doesn't care. He's changed, everything's changed. He snaps at people and says cruel things. He hurting, they know it deep down. So does he.

And he's angry. It's a different kind of rage, not the kind that he's used to. He used to be able to pin his anger on someone or something and get rid of the problem. Not this time. He's angry at himself. He doesn't know what to do.

There's no way out.

Kasuka has tried to contact him once or twice; he's left messages telling him that he's worried about him. Shinra leaves messages telling him to come visit him though Shizuo knows it's all a lie. Tom has even left a message telling him that he misses seeing him around. Like hell he does.

There all getting along fine without him. They can do it for another few weeks.

He's been falling asleep in his wheelchair, but sometimes he wakes up in his bed. Besana comes to wake him up and he tells her to leave him alone. They argue, but they're both sick and tired of his attitude.

Besana tells him to grow up. Tells him to stop feeling sorry for himself. Get up. Do something.

He's slipping. Someday he just stays in bed and think of all the things that have gone wrong. How could this happen? He sleeps most of the day away. Doesn't want to wake up anymore.

Maybe one day he'll never wake up.

* * *

><p>December has just begun. It's snowing. Fat white flakes decorate the town; Shizuo witnesses it all from his window. He sees the night cover the city, and street lights ignite and a comma of a moon through a gap in the clouds.<p>

He sees people on the streets; the air is filled with cheer. The air is frosty and the roads are slippery. He scowls wheels himself around so his back faces the window.

Sorrow hits him at full force. He's unprepared and is powerless against it. Tears well up in his eyes and Shizuo cries. He cries heartbroken tears because that used to be him out there.

That used to be him on the streets with Tom back when everything was alright. That used to be him at the park talking to Celty with not a care in the world. Sure his life wasn't perfect, but it was better than what he was stuck with now.

He puts his palm to his forehead, scrunched up his eyes in a feeble attempt to staunch the flow of tears. He runs his fingers through his bleached blonde hair and gazed at his lap through hazy eyes.

Shizuo bows his head and sobs. No one's around to hear him. No one will comfort him. Did he really deserve this? Was this payback for all of the devastation he caused?

He cradles his head in his hands and fists his fingers in his hair as his shoulders shake and shudder with sadness. Why did this have to happen to him? How could life be so cruel as to steal away everything? Empty sobs fill the room as he weeps.

All he needed was one person, someone to help him find a reason to live again. Just one, that's all he asks. He doesn't think it's too much. Life has taken everything he had; he needs something to hold on to.

Someone to give him a reason to wake up in the morning, someone to tell him it's alright even when it's not and pick up the pieces when he falls apart. He needs someone that understands what he's going through and will be able to stand by him when he's at his highest and his lowest.

He doesn't want to be like this anymore. He doesn't want to be known as the man who spends his days wallowing in self-pity and hate. He doesn't want to be known as the man who shut everyone else and then wonders why he is alone. He doesn't want to be alone anymore. Loneliness leaves a sour aftertaste on his tongue that he can't shake off.

The streets are alive with cheer and joy and no one is there for Shizuo as he cries. No one hears how lost he is. No one answers his calls. The world keeps spinning and no one hears from the man who just wants someone to help him out of the rut he was in.

He was human too. He had feelings and he had needs just like the rest of them. He's allowed to break down and sob like the rest of them. Shizuo cries alone, and no one is there to comfort him. No one will see this side of him.

He's not a monster. He's not the man they think he is.


	7. Fresh Air

_Shizuo is running. He is flying on the concrete and the wind is in his ears and the day is bright and clear and made for him. The streets are empty just for him. The sun is shining just for him. This was made for him. This is who he is._

_There is nothing but the howl of that blazing energy in his head, the empty streets in his sight, and the world rushing by without touching him, without so much as leaving a mark._

_This is his city. This is his home. This is where he spends his days and these are the streets that are made for him. This is his realm and nothing stands in his way. He pumps his legs, feels the raw power rippling beneath hard muscles. _

_He breathes in the warm city air, feeling it fill his lungs, expand his chest until he lets it free and it rushes back out through his mouth. He needs this. He needs the feel of the asphalt under his feet like he needs the air he breathes. __He's legs were tingling, whether it was from the exertion or the amount of sheer euphoria singing in his veins, Shizuo did not know._

_He sprints through the labyrinth of buildings, tall expanses that take root in his city and stretch towards his sky. The sky is his canvas, a smudge of creamy pink cloud to symbolize the end of a day, a clump of pale yellow clouds to begin the day. Maybe at wide expanse of angry grey to sprinkle down rain and wash his city clean. Maybe an ashen colored morning to blanket his city in white by the time noon should arise._

_Slowing… why is he slowing? He wants to go faster! No… don't stop!_

_His legs feel weak underneath him, unable to support his weight. He struggles to take a step, in fear they might collapse out from under him. He's losing feeling… Numbness greedily eats at his legs as they wobble unsteadily. But he must keep going… he must push past this! _

_He is strong; this shouldn't be enough to stop him. Why can't he move?_

_He tries to take a step, free him from this bind that was snaking up his legs and rendering him immobile. But his body won't listen to him and his freedom is ripped away as the wind howls and whips at him, almost bowling him over. Rain pelts his face as black cloud spill over his sky and spoils the day with a torrent of fury in the form of raindrops._

_The wind howls an ominous warning as it batters him and he sinks to his knees after a powerful gust pushes him around as if he were nothing more than a dead leaf in a raging river. Instinct kicks in. Survival mode activates. He must live!_

_Move now!_

_His legs fail him and it is too late. Panic makes his heartbeat flutter and sends a surge of adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He flails his arms trying to find something for him to grab onto and pull him away from his fate. There is nothing. He gazes up to the sky in horror and dread. _

_He is met with a shock of pure white light shooting down from the angry black sky that can do nothing to help him._

"Shizuo-san! Please wake up!"

He complies, opening his eyes into slits and waited for his vision to focus, Besana was standing over him, her eyes wide and concerned. He narrowed his eyes, was he talking in his sleep or something?

"What?" He growled in a hostile tone, resent and disappointment washing over him in a wave as his mind caught up. It was just another day. He was back in reality with useless legs and an even more useless life.

She does not seem taken aback by his sharp tone. She's used to it now. She answers him, paying no heed to his aggressive voice. She's dealt with patients like this before. She has experience. If he wants to be like that, then so be it.

"You looked uncomfortable and when I tried to wake you up you lashed out at me…" She shook her head as she helped him sit up.

"Sorry." He grunted briskly as he was hauled into a sitting position. His wheel chair appears beside his bed and he allows himself to be placed into it. She leaves the room and he follows after her obediently.

He falls into his place beside the couch and turns on the television so he won't have to talk even though they both know he isn't watching it. It's a waste of electricity. She hands him his breakfast after a few minutes and he eats in silence, passing her his plate when he was done.

She puts it in the sink and goes to stand by him. "You're going outside today."

Her voice left no room for argument and he didn't care enough to try to disagree. There was no more fight left in him, he she wants to push him around the city all day, then she can have it her way. She hands him a jacket and he puts it on, he can still do that much.

He puts his hands in his lap and she grasps the handles attached to his wheelchair and starts slowly, but her pace evolves into a more comfortable walk as they go. He is unused to the cold air and it tickles his throat as he breathes it in. They set off in silence and he looks at the windows of the shops while she focuses on her task of dragging him around all day.

He falls into boredom after a few minutes of the silence. Besana skirts to avoid a patch of ice and he engages conversation.

"Don't you have something to do today?" he inquires gruffly. _Don't you have anything better to do with your time then wheel a sour man like me around all day?_

"No, today is my day off so I decided to spend some more time with you; you need the fresh air anyway." Her voice sounds from behind him. He keeps staring ahead but she doesn't elaborate. They lapse into silence once more as Shizuo fishes for question to keep the conversation flowing.

Eventually he gives up, he had nothing to say. He pays attention to the shops instead, the smells of different stores that sell food and the people inside. He doesn't recognize anyone, and for that he is glad. The smells are intriguing, the sharp tang of cinnamon to the sharp scent of ginger bread as they go by a bakery. The overwhelming stench of too much perfume as they pass a jewelry store.

He looks ahead, into a café, where he can just see the figure of a person. His eyes widen a fraction as he recognizes who he was seeing. The fur-trimmed jacket anyone would recognize, but it was the jolt of anticipation and adrenaline that allowed him to identify exactly who he was looking at. His hands form fist in his lap.

"Let's go in there." He says concisely, his heart pounding expectantly. He steadies himself, forcing himself to calm down; his fingers itched for a cigarette.

Besana looks ahead. "The café? If you want to…" She changes the course and enters.

The unmistakable fragrance of coffee assaults his senses as they enter. He shoves it aside and focuses on why he was here. Finally… Now he could get answers. Now he could rest without wondering. Now he would know exactly what happened that day.

"Over there." He orders pointing at Izaya's table. The informant appears oblivious to the exchange at hand, typing on his laptop lazily, and a cup of tea at his side.

Besana sounds puzzled. "Do you know that man?"

_Shut up… shut up… shut up… _He frowns. What if Izaya got up to leave? This could be his only chance. Who knows when he would see the flea again? He's wasting time… All of his questions could be answered if he could just get over there.

"Just do it." He snarls lowly, not caring about how he might sound. He's long since caring about how he sounds. Who cares about other people think of him?

Besana sighs as she wheels him over. Izaya glances up as they near, and he almost chokes on his tea. He regains control of his composure quickly and allows his smirk to fall back into place.

"Shizu-chan." He greets, his eyes travelling all up and down Shizuo's figure no doubt taking in the wheelchair and Besana beside him. His voice sounds choked, and Shizuo allows a small sliver of satisfaction at that.

"Flea." He responds with a somewhat level voice, careful not to let any of his inner turmoil leak into his voice. He can feel the stony silence setting in. Where to start…?

"Is this a friend of yours, Shizuo-san?" Besana pipes up, regarding Izaya coolly, with critical eyes. She shifts from one foot to another uneasily.

Izaya snorts and glances at her with icy eyes. "You're new here aren't you?" The informant casually takes a sip of his tea, his eyes not leaving Besana, waiting for her reaction.

She doesn't seem fazed by the question, but she trains her eyes on the table, unused to his critical gaze. She fidgets nervously.

"You can leave if you want to." Shizuo states abruptly, annoyed at her presence. She doesn't know how long he had been waiting for this moment. She doesn't know how many nights he's stayed awake waiting for these answers.

Besana blinks, and then smiles softly. "Call my cellphone when you're ready to go, okay?" She turns on her heels and stalks out of the café at a quickened pace without waiting for his answer. Izaya chuckles when she leaves, amused by her actions. Shizuo supposes that it's just part of his sick love for humans.

Shizuo sighs as Izaya closes his laptop, and turns to him. "I would offer you a seat, but…" He trailed off, his arrogant smirk still glued in place.

Shizuo meets his eyes, a twinge of anger surging underneath his skin, he grimaces. He hasn't felt so alive in a long time. Anger. He's missed it the energy it gives him. People. He's missed their company.

He's missed the excitement and chaos that is guaranteed to ensue whenever the flea enters the city. He's missed the unknown that is Izaya Orihara. But he won't say that out loud of course.

"Yeah, well…" Shizuo's grimace fades. He gets right to the point, sparing no time for small talk and formalities. "We need to talk."

Izaya's eyes crinkle at the corners. "What ever about? I never thought I'd see the day when you came to me just to talk. Or is it my information you seek?" He replies smoothly.

Shizuo's face changes, and it was a transformation that Izaya hasn't seen yet. Instead of the usual flush of a face and eyes glinting in rage, Shizuo's face withdrew, his eyes clouded over and darkening, he almost looked intimidating.

"You know why I'm here." He hisses menacingly. "Tell me the truth of what happened that day."

Izaya's smirk widens at the statement, his eyes gleamed with interest. He's never seen this side of Shizuo before. The protozoan was so unpredictable sometimes… How far would he go? How would he hold in his fury when he couldn't throw things or chase him anymore?

Izaya couldn't wait to find out. His mind hungered for new information. This could help his understanding of the brute immensely. But that would have to wait for another day, or so it seemed.

"You'll have to be more specific than that Shizu-chan." Izaya shoots back, his grin fixed firmly in place, prepared for the expedition into forbidden territory. Prepared to recover all those suppressed memories, prepared to wipe the dust off of his desperately forgotten days.

"You were there the day I was… struck by lightning…" He starts, his lip turning downward sharply, forming a frown as he remembered.

"I was." The informant responds, not skipping a beat, waiting for Shizuo to carry out the conversation. Izaya watched him struggle with his words with pleasure.

"And you called the hospital-or whatever…? Shizuo mumbled. Why did he have to recap it all like this? Izaya knew what he was talking about, surely he hasn't forgotten about the incident so soon when it was the only thing on Shizuo's mind these days?

"I did." Izaya's eyes flicker slightly as he takes another sip of his tea, tipping the cup back to catch the rest of it.

"Why did you help me?" He asked, spitting the question out as if it were a poison. "You hate me."

"Yes." Izaya agreed, setting the cup down. "I do hate you. Call it pity, as it were."

Shizuo narrowed his eyes with malice. Pity. The word he had dreaded coming out of the flea's mouth. The last thing he needed to hear. He hated the word. Hated it. He clenched his hands in his lap. He had so many questions for the flea, and now he couldn't remember any of them? Who knew when he would get another chance like this?

How could he have thought for even a minute that he would get an honest, legitimate answer from this man? This was Izaya he was talking to! Izaya couldn't be honest and tell him what he wanted to hear for the life of him!

He messed with people too much, pushed them around and manipulated them too much, how could he have thought that he was the exception to the rule? This was Izaya who made a living out of playing with people, he never played fair.

If so, then why did Izaya help him? Why did he turn and call for help when he could have saved himself? Izaya didn't reserve a soft spot for anyone; so why was this situation different? Shizuo knew that if he was to voice his misgivings, the flea would say that he was just keeping him alive until he could find the right moment to kill him.

Bullshit.

If Izaya wanted him dead, then he missed his opportunity, and it sure as hell wasn't going to come by again.

"…That's it?" He said, feeling hollow, like someone scooped out all of his insides, like he was just a shell.

"Yes. That's it." Izaya answers. "You know that I just saved you because-"

"-You want to kill me at the right time, I know. Heard it before." Shizuo murmured, completing the sentence. He sighs, glaring at the information broker. "But I refuse to believe that." he adds quietly.

Izaya's eyebrows dance atop his head. "Ooh the drama." He coos. "Tell me, what ulterior motive could I possibly have?"

The blonde shrugs. "That's what I'm asking you, flea."

Silence. Shizuo's was soaring inside. He actually left the flea speechless! Said man was currently gazing down at his lap, his confident grin irresolute and his eyes vacant. Shizuo silently cheered at his victory.

Albeit it was short lived, because then the informant spoke up. "Maybe I just like playing mind games. Maybe I had no other intention than to keep you taut with worry and watch you unravel. Maybe you're looking too far into this." His voice dropped. "Because this is all there is. Nothing more, nothing less."

Shizuo sneered. "Stop making excuses." He felt a flicker of doubt from deep within him, but he neglected to pay attention to it, he would not believe the flea's words. They were like poison. He would not succumb.

"Excuses, then what's you're guess hmm?" Izaya scowled as he fired back instantly.

The two men had a stare off, each gaze fiery and passionate in its own way. Shizuo had no words to answer; Izaya was waiting for the signal to show that he won. Shizuo wanted to reach forward and scrape the smug grin of the flea's face and the latter was contemplating if he could really stoop low enough to beat up a handicapped person.

Because even though Shizuo was a renowned strength that it was almost legendary, didn't mean that society would not shun him because everyone had a soft spot reserved for the vulnerable. Izaya's leer only widened, Shizuo's scowl only deepened. No words were spoken.

The two men sat in a stony stillness, glaring at each other all the while. Shizuo was the first to break off the contact, lowering his gaze and spinning his wheel chair around. With his back to Izaya, Shizuo muttered his last words, serving as a make-shift farewell.

"I bet you got along just fine after I left." He uttered, taking out his cellphone and turning it on. He kept his eyes on the screen as he looked through his contacts, his face solemn.

He could feel Izaya's glower on his back and almost didn't hear him as he retorted, "I could say the same for you."

No response. He bows his head in acknowledgement and lifts the phone to his ear, Izaya watching him all the while. Besana arrives just a few moments later and the duo leaves without a passing glance.

Izaya glances down at his empty tea cup, idly wondering if he should order another one. He mulls it over, but opts for getting back to work instead. He opens his laptop and returns to what he were doing, shoving all thoughts of Shizuo and their most recent and almost civil conversation to the side.

Shizuo and Besana travel along the streets, the air colder as Besana tells him about where she went and who she saw and Shizuo offers a noncommittal grunt from time to time to show that he was partially listening.

They don't know it, but there after the last word was said; they both had been thinking the same exact thing.

_You don't know how close I came to breaking because of you. _

_You don't know how lonely I was when you were gone._


	8. Breaking Point

Izaya knows a lot of things, there is next to nothing that remains a mystery to him. If he does not know something or someone, than it is just a matter of time before he does. He likes to figure things out, the way people's minds work, what they do and when and why. He takes pride in knowledge.

There is one thing that he does not know, and that is how a Shizuo's brain is wired. He doesn't know how the brute thinks or what makes him tick. He knows what will, or at least used to, set him off. He knows what he was supposed to say and when and why and he knew that Shizuo was supposed to respond with a vending machine, and then they would chat with street signs and knives.

He has a good idea, but otherwise does not know what goes through that protazoic mind of his. He's not a mind reader, no matter how much he pretends to be. His mind was a labyrinth that Izaya could not find his way through; his emotions were simple but never failed to stump him. And if monsters had a heart, it would by gnarled and twisted, barely beating, full of holes.

Izaya's opinion of the fortissimo, or what used to be, was very negative, and very strong. His actions were wild and unpredictable and the informant just couldn't understand how the man could be patient and civil with some people and practically explosive with others.

For everything he knows, Izaya doesn't know what to think of this upgrade. If this was the man that could spew rage and telephone poles all day long, than shouldn't he blow this off like it was nothing?

Did he really have no other reason to live than just be angry every single day? Was that really the only thing that woke him up in the morning and let him rest at night? Did he really consider that "a good day"? As opposed to what?

Izaya recalls his most recent conversation with the protozoan. He would have taken someone like Shizuo to be someone that would just give up like that. Shouldn't he be better? For all the strength that he spent years honing, couldn't he summon up enough just to make it through the day?

From what Izaya could tell, the man was disheveled, purple-black bags hung from his eyes and his shoulders sagged. His voice had adopted an unfriendly snarl, and he seemed to snap at anyone who spoke to him. His hair was unkempt, though it had always had that messy look to it. His tired eyes were dark and mournful; his lips seemed forever etched into a frown, always curving downward every time he was done speaking.

His eyebrows were constantly furrowed, shading his eyes in a frustrated frown. He seemed somber and brooding, wiped clean of all anger and passion that used to be painted onto his face. There was a light stubble growing along his chin, and to say the least, he was looking sullen, a tad worse for the wear.

Izaya was very good at reading people, but an imbecile; a_ protozoan_ could pick up his obvious signs. His body language showed signs of a murky storm brewing underneath the surface, ready to be unleashed. Shizuo was close to his breaking point, and that was what Izaya saw in his cynical, sulky eyes.

The informant hadn't known what he was expecting, something different, something along these lines. He had hoped for what he had thought was the best, what was safe, familiar. He was a fool to think that he would the fiery, zealous man that he had come to know.

Things had changed, everything had changed. He should have seen this vicious change coming, he should have known that no one could take such a drastic change alone and emerge the same in the end.

_Why didn't you see this coming? Could you have done anything to change things if you did? _Izaya scowled as he unlocked the door to his apartment.

"No." He answered the silence. "There was nothing I could have done; there is nothing I can do."

_He'll have to handle this on his own; I have my own life to live. I can't help him._

He unconsciously balled his fists as he sauntered over to his computer, turning it on automatically. He sat down heavily and leaned into his chair, his head tilted back. He was getting soft, thinking of Shizuo so much.

He wasn't stupid, he should know that he will never come back to Ikebukuro and see the same sights again. He will never go to that city and see the fortissimo living up to his name, back in old spirits and angry and loud, launching trash cans and spitting the informant's name into the air and everything would be alright again.

_I wonder if he'd rather be comatose_

Why was he trying to resume his life as if these life changing months had never happened? Why was he denying the truth like one day he might wake up and it will all be a dream? Why was there a gap in his day, why hadn't work regained its interest yet?

He still…enjoyed his humans, they had taken a step backwards from a broad term such as love, Izaya did not think that they fit the title anymore. He was a bit disgusted at their colder side, the side they had shown him when Shizuo was in a coma. How did they go on with their lives so painfully ignorant? When did he stop caring? When did they all become the same?

_No. Stop thinking like this. You'll get it back._

He's going crazy. What could he do? He did all he could! What more was required of him! It's not his job to look after Shizuo. Shizuo would be fine on his own.

He logged onto his computer and sorted through his files as boredom set in. Was there anything he could do to relieve this heaviness in his heart? Was there anyone's life he could ruin in order to help himself feel better? Was there any dirt to get at, and gang tension to ignite, any way he could interfere with anything at all?

Izaya felt useless for the first time in his life. He'd always managed to find a use for himself, find a reason to keep himself around, give himself a mission to complete. But really, who would miss him?

No one, in fact, everyone would be rejoicing in the news of his death. That fact did not help improve his mood. What was he going to do with all this information? Someday this would all be useless, and unable to save him when he was on death's doorstep.

_I wonder if this is how Shizu-chan feels_

He hasn't used that nickname in a while. He had dropped it to be serious, but now it feels flat and meaningless when he says it. Why does he need to tease? It doesn't make Shizuo feel better; it doesn't make Izaya feel better, so why bother?

_Nothing's helping_

He kneads the bridge of his nose as he feels the all too familiar pressure of a headache building up behind his eyes. He freezes and his back stiffens, and his eyes open wide at the rush of a new idea. Of course! A grin spreads across his face at a feverish pace, the fire in his eyes stirred and awakened once more. He types rashly, his eyes fastened to the screen. He quickly hacked into Shizuo's bank account, and his smirk wavered at bit at what he saw. It was just as he suspected.

Empty. Devoid. Bare. A little more than nothing. He sat back into his chair and let his smile fade as he thought. He put his hand to his face, placing his chin in between his thumb and index finger and turned to face the window. This is just what he had thought. Shizuo didn't have a job, and probably didn't have the money for any type of insurance, probably didn't think he'd need it.

All of the money that he might have had saved up was spent to pay bills, and his recourses are dwindling. What would happen if they were to drain completely? Would Shizuo be forced to move away and live in a home and Izaya would probably never see him again? No, he could track down his location, but finding a reason to visit and something to talk about? That was tricky.

He narrowed his eyes, he could always… No. Nononono. That was crazy. He could never do something like that. It was unreasonable. It was completely out of the character that he tried so hard to be. He wasn't a good guy. He wasn't a nice guy. He didn't going around doing good deeds from the goodness of the heart he doesn't have. He wasn't nice to people, he didn't help people unless he benefited from it. He didn't donate things to people, especially not to someone like Shizu-chan.

But it would help. He could not deny that fact. It would keep Shizuo here for a little longer; maybe lift his spirits a little. Shizuo did need it. Izaya did have more than enough. A deposited would barely make a dent in his paycheck. But how much was too much? And why should he interfere with Shizuo's business at all? It's his problem. He'll take care of it.

But that's what he had told himself last time, and he saw how that turned out. It was because he told himself that he'd feel better after Shizuo woke up that he felt so guilty. Things did not go as planned. Things did not get better. Izaya was wrong. But why was this affecting him so much? It's not his problem, so where is all this sympathy coming from? Izaya had no room in his compact little heart for compassion for a monster.

But something was still bothering him, a thorn in his side that he could not remove, a worry nagging him all day and teasing him when he tried to get rid of it.

Izaya slowly deposited some of his money into Shizuo's account.

* * *

><p>The clock read 12:00. Izaya was tired, but could not sleep. It was raining, and it does nothing to soothe the informant. At least there's no thunder or lightning this time of year. But why was he still awake? He did a good thing, he tried to convince himself. So what was not letting him rest? What else did he need to do? He needed his rest!<p>

Izaya sat up in frustration, glowering at the unperceivable darkness. What was wrong with him? Why won't things go back to normal? How can he solve this problem? He fisted the sheets, grimacing into the black.

Maybe he needs a change in scenery, a change of pace. Maybe start a new life, make a new name, begin a brand new day in the morning. Maybe waking up staring into a different ceiling would take his mind off of things. Maybe finding a city with new people to watch would renew his feelings for them.

He'd go to Russia, mess with the people there for a little bit, then hop over to America maybe, and show them all a cunning smile that kills and a blade that is his signature. And while he was dreaming, he might as well grant Shizuo the use of his legs, so everything could go back to normal and Izaya would stop dreaming about fruitless things that were never to be.

He rises and dresses unhurriedly, then shuffles into his kitchen, blind in the intangible darkness. He relies on instinct to find his coat, which also holds his phone and blade.

He slips on his shoes and grabs an umbrella and walks into the misty night at a leisurely pace, letting his feet guide him. Anything to take his mind off of things, anything to lift this weight off his shoulders and let him live again.

* * *

><p>He twisted the knife in his hand, gazing down at its surface, his eyes glazed over as he caught his reflection in the metal. He twisted it again, the light catching on it and erasing his blank mocha eyes. Shizuo ruminated as he traced the sharp outline along his finger.<p>

He feels it in his hand. He has power. He could end it. Just one strong flick… and he wouldn't suffer anymore. All of his problems will be gone. He won't have to pay for anything anymore with the money that he doesn't have. He won't have to make people put up with him. He'd be doing them a favor. He'd be doing himself a favor. He'd finally be… free.

He frowned as reluctance made him stiffen. Could he really do something like this? Could he really stoop so low and just… give up? Was he really that kind of person? Yes. He's a changed man. He wasn't going to live like this forever. He would not be a burden.

He listens through glassy eyes to the rain outside. It was dusk. No one was around. No one could stop him. He pushed the knife into his thumb, applying a bit of force, watching in fascination as a bead of blood responds, slinking down, leaving a trail of red in its wake.

He'd have to practically chop his hand off, make sure he severed his veins enough to ensure that there would be no survival. He imagines himself doing it, digging the knife in until it hit the other side. Or maybe he would pin himself to the wall, drive the knife in until there was no more pain.

He imagines a gush of crimson washing down, rewarding him and telling him that it would soon be over. It would all end. He could escape. He could leave this cowardly existence.

He thinks of his brother's stinging words. Kasuka had stopped by in the evening. The blank canvas had then proceeded to tell him off for not trying to get a job and just surrendering.

_What's wrong with you? I've never seen you like this_

Kasuka had said that he would have to stop paying Shizuo's bills for him. Then he would be shipped off to a home and never see anyone.

_You know I wouldn't visit you when you're like this. I don't want to see you in this state_

Shizuo's never seen his brother angry, he's never seen his brother kick and scream and whine and throw a tantrum like a normal kid. He never disagreed with Shizuo or behaved immaturely like a little brother should.

Kasuka was glad for what he had; Shizuo didn't have much to give him. He'd taken it for granted that his brother didn't care about how he was treated. He had tried to throw a refrigerator at his younger brother… But they got along. He's never seen his brother so cold and resentful. He's never seen his brother truly hate before.

_I hate what you've become. I'm sick of it._

Sick of it… He was too. And Shizuo could take all of that away and Kasuka wouldn't have to worry anymore. Everyone could go on with their lives, nothing would change. It wasn't like he was of any importance in the state he was in. He could solve all their problems. Kasuka wouldn't have to waste his money anymore.

Fortissimo… He writes on his arm. That's what they had called him. Incredibly loud was what he was. Loud and angry…

And Izaya, the louse, perhaps he could be happy. Like, really, truly happy. The happiness that you feel when you get what you want. At least he'd be doing some good.

_I do hate you. Call it pity, as it were._

He deserved all their pity. He was disgusted with himself when he was like this. But this knife in his hand could transform him into nothing more of a memory. A memory where they would only speak of the good and forget the rest.

A memory where they would speak of who he was and the rest wouldn't matter. He'd be spoken of in awe, as a ferocious monster, not the broken man he was now. That wouldn't matter anymore.

Shizuo resigns himself to his fate, bowing his head; he lifted the knife and nodded once. He closed his eyes and his wrist meets the knife, the music of rain in the background. The rain sings his lullaby, serenades him to the end. He is ready to die.

There is nothing here for him anymore. There is nothing to make life worth living. He was finished. This was his breaking point. This is as far as he could stretch.

This is where the story ends.

But then, a voice breaks though his thick cloud of concentration, and he hesitates.

"No!"


	9. Unravelling

"_No!"_

Izaya reacts before he can properly assess the situation. He slaps a hand over his mouth. What was getting into him? Acting on impulse was dangerous. He cannot afford to make mistakes like that. How stupid of him!

Shizuo hesitates, stiffening on reflex; his eyes snap up to meet Izaya's and honey meets carmine, both wide eyed. Izaya blinks, his hand still over his mouth, shocked, a river of questions flowing through his head. Shizuo lowers the blade silently, without a sound.

The only noise is of the rain, tap-tapping and swishing in the desolate streets, barren in the dawn. Shizuo observes Izaya with calm, calculating eyes that the informant isn't used to seeing and all of a sudden he doesn't know what to do.

He can handle an angry Shizuo, one that throws objects that aren't meant to be thrown and chases him all around the city. He knows he can out maneuver Shizuo, he knows he can always run faster, be one step ahead, and rile him back up when he calms down, and then they run and Izaya likes that because its familiar and predictable.

But he doesn't know what to do with a depressed Shizuo. He doesn't know what to say to a man that holds a blade to his wrists and wonders if he can be brave today, brave enough to take the plunge, or brave enough to go on.

Izaya doesn't how to handle a Shizuo that gazes at him through numb eyes, emotionless and pitiful. He doesn't know what to do with a Shizuo that wants to die. The informant knows how to make someone want to commit suicide, but he doesn't know what to do to prevent it.

Izaya takes small steps forward, dropping his hand to his side, dragging his closed umbrella behind him. He inches forward with caution, like he was approaching a cornered animal, and if he moved too quickly Shizuo would turn skittish and feral or something. Shizuo doesn't move, his gaze bores a hole through Izaya and it's something the informant isn't used to. For the first time in his life he knows what it feels like to not be in control, to not have seen this coming.

He takes another step. Shizuo raises the blade to his wrist. A warning. Don't come any closer.

Izaya freezes where he stands. He does not break eye contact. He keeps his breathing steady. Keeps his body-language open and harmless. His lips twitch into the beginning of a smile, but it's obvious that he's at a disadvantage. He's stuck.

He struggles to formulate a plan. _I could dart forward and wrestle the knife out of his grip, but no, he would attack me, and he has super-human strength._

_Talk him out of it._

Fear rises in his throat as Shizuo digs the knife into his wrist, enough to cause a thin stream of blood to dribble out. The informant's breathe hitches in his throat, although he knows the cut is harmless and shallow. Izaya follows it into his eyes, watching it run over previously written words.

_Fortissimo_.

It blurs the lines in between. Izaya tries to clear his throat but his mouth is dry and if he doesn't say something soon he doesn't know what will happen. He can't stand by and watch but he can't move either.

A small grin forms at the edge of Shizuo's mouth, curving upwards in a half crazed grimace. His eyes are dark, serious. "I would have never thought that I'd see you afraid." His sadistic grin widens.

Izaya's teeth clench at the accusation, his eyes narrow. He does not take his eyes off Shizuo. He forces his shoulder to become lax, as if he was nonchalant about the whole ordeal. "I'm not afraid." He tells the dangerous man before him evenly.

"Yes you are. I can see it in your eyes." Shizuo insists. He lowers the blade again, but does not relax his grip.

Izaya says nothing, knowing that denying it would make it seem more like the truth, knowing it was the truth but also knowing that no one could read him that well, especially not someone like Shizuo. He was never the kind of person to admit when the other was wrong, he does not reveal weaknesses.

His stony façade does not waver as he glares at Shizuo. The latter is able to meet his gaze with steady eyes. "What are you doing?" Izaya whispers.

The blonde bows his head so his hair falls in front of his eyes, his lips dip into a snarl, but he says nothing. Izaya keeps thinking, nothing comes to mind. Only the same thought, that this was so much worse than he had originally assumed, that Shizuo had fallen lower than he was aware of, that he should have seen the signs. How did it come to this? How could he let it go so far?

Why didn't he pay more attention when they were talking at the café? It seems like an eon ago. He tries to remember details that might have tipped him off. He snaps back to attention as Shizuo speaks, his eyes focusing on the brute.

"I can't keep up." Shizuo growls. "I can't pay the rent."

Izaya blinks in surprise. He had just put money in… Did Shizuo not know? He knew he shouldn't expect him to, but he had been a heartbeat away from… Izaya couldn't let it happen. The informant is still, his breathing controlled, his stance wary. He waits for the ex-bartender to continue. When he remains mute, Izaya speaks up.

"Aren't you getting money from your brother?" he prompts, letting no hints of what he was feeling leak into his voice.

Shizuo's vacant hand form fists in his lap "No." he responds tersely. "Not anymore."

Izaya's guise does not betray the surprise he feels at that statement. He had thought that Kasuka was the kind of person to take care of family. Surely he wouldn't abandon his brother when he needed him the most? Surely he had more than enough money to help his brother? Kasuka didn't seem like the kind of person to turn a blind eye to someone in need, especially not his older brother. Izaya would have to re-evaluate him.

"We got in a fight." Shizuo goes on, despite Izaya's lack of input. " He says that he wasn't going to keep supporting me, that I needed to get a job, that I would get put in a home, '"What's wrong with you"' he said, '"Why are you giving up"'?

Izaya can see Shizuo's shoulders trembling, though he does not witness tears. His fisted hand is taut, tense. Izaya can see the blonde's eyes through the wall of hair, although barely, they are stressed and strained.

Izaya's never seen someone unravel like this.

Out of all the crumbling he's seen, this is the hardest one to watch, for reasons he cannot even begin to dream of. But he won't think of that right now. All of his attention needs to be in the room, here, now, on Shizuo.

Izaya knows that Kasuka would give in, that he would not stand by and do nothing forever. It was impossible for someone to cut all ties with him when he was like this. Izaya knows, he's tried.

"It's impossible for me to start again." Shizuo mutters grimly, almost to himself. 'I hate what you've become."' He told me. I've never seen him angry at me before. "

Izaya, for all he's worth, for all the skill he's acquired, still has to admit that no one can interpret the movie star like Shizuo can. No one can know what he's feeling or what he's thinking except for Shizuo. Izaya doesn't know what an angry Kasuka looks like. He didn't know that someone like Kasuka felt anger.

"He's worried about you." Izaya responded. Lowering his voice, he added, "We all are."

The informant doesn't know if the blonde had heard what he had told him. He didn't know if he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he remained oblivious to Izaya's words. He doesn't know what he's thinking and what he plans to do next, and it's the worst feeling in the world for someone like Izaya.

Helpless. That's what he felt. Helpless because he did and didn't want to help, and he did and didn't know how. He wants to see Shizuo push past this. He wants to see Shizuo overcome this and emerge better in the end. He wants to see him become better than any sadness that might want to claim him.

He wants to see Shizuo happy again. Strong and happy. It is then Izaya realizes that he wants to help. That he's obliged to help because this is all his fault this happened and he's not supposed to feel guilty about it but he does. Because this wasn't a part of his plans. Because he messed up and the only person he can blame is himself.

"No, things will be fine." Shizuo argues in monotone.

Izaya doesn't know who he's talking to, if he's retorting to what Izaya had said or if he's thinking of something completely different, if his thoughts had transported him to some other place and he hadn't realized that he was speaking out loud. Maybe he was seeing someone completely different before him.

Outrage floods through Izaya's veins. But how could he say that? How could he think that? How could he truly believe that things will be fine? How could he say that things would be fine when things aren't fine and weren't fine and won't be fine? How could he say that things would be fine when he was not fine and things were not improving?

Didn't he know how much he was missed when he was in a coma? Didn't he know how much people worried about him after the accident? Didn't he know that he was on everyone's mind when his future was uncertain, that all his friends visited him all the time in the beginning? Did he know just how empty and lonely the city is without him, just how cold the streets were, how boring life had become without the constant threat of a flying vending machine?

Didn't he know how everyone missed him terribly, so terribly that some days it had seemed like a heavy tarp had been draped over the city and weighed down everything, giving them hunched shoulders and bowed heads and every limb was heavy and every glance was sad? Shizuo had no idea just how hard life was without him, just how hard it was to get around the fact that he was missing from the streets.

"How could you say that?" Izaya hissed indignantly, "Everyone was concerned when you were in a coma."

He didn't even know who he was talking about anymore. This wasn't Shizuo. It couldn't be. It was Shizuo's job to get frustrated when Izaya didn't give him a straight answer, not the other way around. Shizuo keeps his head down, and when he speaks, it is still in the infuriatingly calm tone that Izaya's come to hate about the new him.

"But I'm awake and alive." The blonde sighed,"So there's no need to worry."

Irritation flashed in Izaya's mahogany irises as he shot back, "Maybe there is if you're trying to kill yourself."

Blank mocha eyes meet exasperated carmine ones, Izaya glares at them, willing Shizuo to gain some sense and see that he is _wrong. _His logic is flawed and he needed to see some sense and start thinking straight because Izaya was sick of seeing him like this and he was sure a lot of other people would agree with him.

"It's for the best." Shizuo reiterated, regarding Izaya with eyes of the alien that had taken over him.

Then Izaya lost it.

The informant is one to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He never lets one control him, he shoves it aside and focuses on perfect that already perfect smirk that he wore. He's never know what it was like to be possessed by rage, taken captive by sadness, or flooded by happiness, so much as to he got loose-lipped and spilled information. That has never happened to him. He is strict. His line of work was too dangerous to slip like that. He couldn't afford emotions.

Maybe because it was too early in the morning for this. Maybe because Izaya was so sick and tired of feeling like this and dealing with Shizuo wasn't one of his top priorities at the moment. Maybe it was because he doesn't know what to do when Shizuo was like this.

But that doesn't matter because Izaya let fury blind him; he succumbed to the white hot rage bubbling up within him.

"What is _wrong_ with you!" the informant exploded, "You have people that care about you! Your life is worth living! Stop doing this!"

The only acknowledgement that he received was the almost unperceivable raise of an eyebrow. Shizuo smiles in amusement, though it is sour, short-lived and almost invisible. He listens to Izaya rant through impassive eyes, listening to what the informant has to say even though both of them knew that he was believing a word of it.

"I'm so sorry Shizuo!" Izaya blurted, again feeling the urge to shove his hand in his mouth to staunch the flow of words. _Shut up shut up… stop! _

"What?" Shizuo asked flatly, narrowing his eyes at the brunet and the sudden change of attitude. He's never seen Izaya like this before. Izaya's never seen himself like this before either.

_Everything is changing_

"…I'm sorry this happened to you." Izaya said, trying to sound sincere. "This is all my fault."

The blonde shook his head. "This isn't helping anything." He stated dully. "Leave me alone."

Izaya glared at him. _How can I fix this?_ _What can I do?_ But he feared that Shizuo was right. There was nothing he could do to give Shizuo the will to live. There was nothing he could say to make Shizuo see logic, facts and truth for what they were.

"…You're going to be okay." He said slowly, making sure he said each word correctly. He thought back to the money that he had given Shizuo earlier in the day.

The ex-bartender glowered at him, not believing a word he was saying. "You don't know that." He spat. "Shut up."

Izaya ignored him, nodding to himself. "Yes, you'll be able to pay your bills."

Izaya could see Shizuo frowning at him from the corner of his eye, uneasy, unable to trust, wary. The brunet doesn't say a word, waiting for Shizuo to ask what he was talking about. He listened to the rain outside. He fought off fatigue. He shifted from foot to foot. Shizuo said nothing.

"What are you talking about?" Shizuo finally asks, honey colored eyes glinted in suspicion, "What did you do?"

Izaya suddenly has cold feet. He does and doesn't want to tell Shizuo about what he did, though he knows he should because it involved the blonde and he did ask him directly. But Izaya didn't know how he would react, would he be grateful for the help and support, would he feel relieved and maybe even a little optimistic?

Or would he misinterpret Izaya's help as commiserate and refuse to use it? Would he feel consoled as Izaya attempted to reach out for him, or would he take it as a threat and shut down completely? Izaya had to tread carefully, but he knew that either response would be a little bit of improvement.

Because that would mean that Shizuo could still feel emotions, he could still hear him and react to what he said. Any step was a step in the right direction.

"I gave you money earlier today…. Deposited it into your account." Izaya claimed, eyeing Shizuo in order to monitor his reaction.

Something strange flashed in the blonde's distant amber orbs. He tipped his head in confusion. "But why?"

_Why?_

Why would he do something like that? Why would he show compassion to a monster? Why would he help the man he constantly tried to knock down? Why would he finally give him a break when he continually attempted to irritated him and witness his awe-inspiring yet terror inducing strength? Why come to his aid now? He didn't care what happened to Shizuo until the accident… why was he acting like this? What was wrong with him?

"Why?" Izaya echoed, "Because I need to do something. Because I can't stand seeing you waste away like this."

Shizuo furrowed his brow. "No." He denied, "You're lying. You hate me."

Izaya sighed. What did that word even mean anymore? It was tossed around haphazardly, and the times that it was sincere were rare. Izaya knew people that could hate, and live up to all its expectations, strive for it and become it. Hate.

He did not hate Shizuo. He hated Shizuo when he was like this. He hated the change that had taken place. He hated how unfair life was to throw something so cruel at a man that already had to cope with so much. But he could not hate Shizuo.

"A lot of things have changed." Izaya murmured.

He could smell the rain outside. He loved the smell of the rain. He loved the way it refreshed the earth. He loved the way it revived the scents in the trees. He loved the way he could see the deep rich greens of the few trees they had in the city in all their glory, slick with rain, glossy and vibrant once more. He loved the way it seemed to wipe the streets clean.

But he does not love how it fogged up his view on the world. How it stung when running through it, how it restricted his view. He did not love how it made him unstable, teetering on surfaces once stable.

He does not love how it sometimes came with blaring thunder and blinding lightning. He does not love how he could not enjoy it anymore without thinking of something else. He does love how it always seemed to be raining when something traumatic happens. How cliché. His life suddenly seemed like a scene stolen from some cheesy romance movie.

"Come with me." Izaya blurted. "Stay at my apartment. I can keep an eye on you."

He sucked in a breath. Did he really say that out loud? He knew he would regret it if Shizuo agreed. But now, Shizuo wouldn't agree to something as outrageous as this. It was crazy. He opened his mouth to take it back, to cover up his blunder with fast talk, smile and lie and maybe Shizuo wouldn't notice what he had said. But no words come out. He cannot bring himself to take it back.

Shizuo glared at him. "I don't-"

"-You won't be lonely anymore." Izaya interrupted him. _Shut up! You fool!_

Izaya again felt the somewhat familiar urge to shove his hand down his throat in an attempt to get himself to stop spewing out words that he didn't mean. What was happening to him today? He didn't need Shizuo at his apartment. He'd been getting along fine as he was.

But that also was a lie. Izaya was not making it on his own. Izaya was struggling to resume his life. But would have Shizuo near change any of that? _No _he told himself. It would be disastrous. The duo did not get along. They could barely uphold a civilized conversation, and even this event was a feat, albeit it was laced with sharp words.

But Shizuo had proved this morning that he could not be left alone. That he could not be alone by himself and stay sane. But could Izaya fix that? Could he really take such a huge leap? Could he really take on such a monstrous project? Could he give Shizuo the will to live?

If Izaya could hope, and if he believed in miracles, then he would want healing to take place. He would want them to mend their broken bond and become something akin to friends… Somewhere close. He didn't need any more enemies. If he was going to try to help Shizuo, then he would have to go the distance. He could not give up once he committed himself to this arduous task. Could he really do that? Could he resign himself to such a fate?

"Fine, whatever." Shizuo droned, still cautious, not yet believing. But he decided to play along. See where this went. "Do whatever you want with me, if me being over there makes you feel better, then go for it."

His tone remained secretive and try as he might, Izaya did not feel the need to pry and know all of what he was feeling. He wanted Shizuo to know that he meant it, but the words would not come. Izaya closed his eyes, feeling thoroughly exhausted as their conversation drew to a close. His quiet response was almost unheard, but he knew what he had said. He knew Shizuo knew it too.

"Don't worry; I'm going to fix you."

It was a promise. And Izaya was determined to keep it.


	10. Stubborn and Stuck

**I was listening to "Someday you will be loved" by Death Cab for Cutie while writing this. It reminds me of Shizuo. ;A; Also, sorry this is so short…**

_**You'll be loved; you'll be loved, like you never have known**_

_**These memories of me, Will seem more like bad dreams**_

_**Just a series of blurs, like it never occurred**_

_**Someday you will be loved**_

* * *

><p>Shizuo gazed up at the ceiling through numb, half-lidded eyes as he awakened. His heart jumped when he did not recognize his surroundings, but his stoic mask does not waver as his vision clears. His eyes swivel, taking in the dark room without moving. He sighed into the darkness as his eyes fluttered closed.<p>

And he waits.

He can't hear any talking outside his door today, which means Izaya doesn't have any clients for today yet, or he slept through all of their appointments. Probably the latter. He wonders what time it is.

He's been living with Izaya for a week now. He knows the informant is trying to bond with him, but Shizuo doesn't think he'll ever get used to being around the smug brunette. He was too complicated, far more complicated than Shizuo would ever want to try to understand.

They have settled into a morning routine, When Shizuo woke up in the morning he would call Izaya's cell phone with his own, which was currently lying on the table beside him. If Izaya was busy with a client, he wouldn't respond, and if he wasn't, then he would show up in Shizuo's room a few minutes later. Easy.

And then Shizuo would maneuver himself into his wheelchair, (which took a lot of upper-body strength, but he got through) It was manageable, and Izaya was on standby, because sometimes he fell and that was humiliating all by itself. Izaya never said a word on those days; just looked at him with those sad sad eyes that Shizuo's come to hate. And would then help him back into his chair wordlessly.

Shizuo doesn't try to get into his wheelchair by himself, he doesn't care if he has to lie in bed all day and stare at the ceiling. He would manage if that was what he had to do. It's not like he had anywhere to go. Sometimes Shizuo forgets to call in the morning. Shizuo's waiting for the day that Izaya forgets to come get him.

He'll work on burning a hole into the wall with his glowers in the meantime.

Then they go into the kitchen and Izaya will ask Shizuo if he wants anything and Shizuo will shrug or shake his head. Izaya will then sigh as he opens his refrigerator like he thinks Shizuo can't see him or something. Then Shizuo will have whatever Izaya's having or just a glass of milk.

Izaya doesn't say much, he doesn't speak at all, only to ask questions and on a good day, some small talk. Shizuo still doesn't know why he's here, but he goes through all the motions anyway. He's beyond hoping that Izaya knows what he's doing, they both don't and they know that.

He's just playing along until something happens that will ignite the life in him once more.

Next Izaya will go over to the couch and read a book or go online until his secretary comes and Shizuo will take the elevator to the balcony for a smoke and stay there for most of the day because he doesn't want to wheel himself in while Izaya working.

Some days Izaya will join him and Shizuo will gaze down at the city below him and Izaya will look at him with those sad sad eyes until one of them leaves or both.

Sometimes when it's snowing too hard Shizuo will be shut inside, and if Izaya has a client on that day he'll go see Celty because not many people know where Shizuo disappeared to. The people that need to know will know. End of story.

When Shizuo's had his smoke and he's stared down the city for long enough, he'll go inside and wait and listen. If he hears talking from inside then he'll leave.

That was how everyday had been so far.

Shizuo wants something to happen, something big that would shake things up in a good way and add spice to his boring life. He wants to go somewhere new, meet someone he hasn't seen before, anything to break himself out of this lifeless mold that was laid out for him. He wants to do something with himself, but he doesn't know how to start, so he'll settle for smoking on the balcony until something comes his way.

Some days Izaya will take Shizuo out to Shinjuku, and Izaya will watch the people and Shizuo will watch Izaya watching the people. He can't see himself getting used to Shinjuku. Then they'll go get lunch or something and Shizuo won't say a word. He doesn't know if his silent act is frustrating Izaya, he hopes it does. Then the foolish flea can let go of him and let him die already. He doesn't think it's too hard to do.

He doesn't know why Izaya's taking a sudden interest in him, it annoys him that the only reason Izaya is making the effort is because he wants to keep Shizuo around for himself. It's selfish and he doesn't like it, but he refuses to play Izaya's games, something will have to give, Izaya won't give up and Shizuo won't give in, and they won't go anywhere in the end.

He doesnt like living in Shinjuku, it's just a more expensive version of Ikebukuro with fewer gangs. It's not what he needs. He doesn't know what he needs, but when he figures it out, he'll do his best to obtain it. Maybe it will help... Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Sometimes when he's on the balcony he considers jumping, or leaning out of his wheel chair and onto the sidewalk below, which is basically the same thing. He doesn't think it will be enough to kill him. He decides he'll stick around a little while longer.

After all, they say what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

But it can also permanently impair you.

He doesn't want to take any more chances.


	11. Indistinct Determination

Izaya was a very smart person, be even he had to admit that he had not taken the time to think this one through-as smart as he was. He might have thought that this had been a good idea when he had said of it, but it didn't come through just yet.

He wants to be able to do something. He wants to be able to think of all the answers, find a solution, watch it work magic and then sit back and give himself a pat on the back when it worked.

When all the puzzle pieces fell into place and Shizuo was talking and laughing and actually living again, then he could sit back and congratulate himself for all his hard work. Remember all the blood sweat and tears it had taken to get to where they were, and then a hop-skip-and a jump because he did it. Just like he said he would, just like he promised. Promise, promise promise….

But until then, he had to get back to work on operation Shizuo.

He likes to think that he's doing all he can, but in reality he's not doing much of anything at all. He just keeps looking at the blonde like he thinks the longer he stares the more it will change what's in front of him. It's like he thinks that his gaze alone is enough to help. But no, he needs to take action. He likes to think that he's doing all he can, but in truth, that is a lie.

It's the strangest feeling in the world, but he likes to think that he actually cares about what happens to Shizuo. Because a dead brute is not fun to play with, oh no, not at all. It won't do. Certainly not. He'll have to do something about that. But he doesn't know what.

But who is he kidding? A dead brute is no fun to play with, but it's about time he's cut his losses and faced the music and at least tried to deal with the fact that Shizuo was not okay. Because his sole duty to himself at the moment was to make sure that Shizuo would be okay, because that was the only way he could get on with his life.

Izaya is stuck.

Someone has to make a move, and he knows that he won't like it if Shizuo acts first, and he knows that if he says something it will come out wrong and pull them farther in this hole of despair that they were both already drowning in.

So for the time being, Izaya will do nothing, it's a strategy that he's exhausted, but he hopes it will hold out for him as he tries to figure out what to do. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing comes to mind because he doesn't know what to do.

It's now that he actually has Shizuo right where he wants him when his inspiration runs dry and he doesn't know how to move forward now that he has the chance. It's horrible. How do you give someone a reason to live? Izaya is good at a lot of things, he takes pride in his work and abilities, but this is something that he could not do himself; this was a task that was simply much too big for the notorious Orihara Izaya.

All these thoughts and more are swimming through Izaya's head as he regards the man before him. Shizuo had called him but apparently he had fallen back asleep.

Tsk, tsk.

Izaya silently eased himself down onto the bed beside Shizuo's paralyzed legs, deep in thought. His carmine eyes snap up to the blonde's face, but it remained calm with sleep and undisturbed as the bed creaked under his additional weight. He sighed as he took in the blonde's features.

His hair, dulled in the shadow of the dark room, his eyes concealed by a thin layer of skin for an eyelid which held dark shadows under them. He can almost see brooding mocha eyes that once were so lively and proud, not miserable and gloomy as the days dragged on. His lips, once betraying his toothy, blood-thirsty grin that had Izaya's heart pounding a mile a minute, not curved downward forever in a scowl.

His gaze travelled down to his shoulders that once stood so wide and broad atop his chest, now hunched bending under the weight of his burden. His arms once full of strength and moved fluidly with ease as he plucked signs from the ground as if it was natural, which now seem like such a dead weight to move, dragging as he pushed himself around sluggishly.

And his hands; Hands crafted so carefully, each knobby fingers grafter for the sheer purpose of gripping solid metal machines, hands that were calloused and bruised, hands that have seen. Pale blue veins and faded scars ran like an intricate network across the almost translucent skin of the back of his hands.

Delicate, fragile.

Human.

It was hard to reconcile the legendary invincible Heiwajima Shizuo, a man impossible to kill if some of the rumors were to be believed, with this obviously mortal man that lay on the bed before him.

Before he could stop himself, Izaya picked up one of those hands gently, with cool eyes that betray nothing. It is only when he feels his own warmth being sucked into the hand he held that he realizes that Shizuo was cold. Izaya leans forward and tentatively draws up the blankets to cover the man's broad chest fully, holding his breath as he nudges Shizuo's leg as he transitions, and then releasing it when he remembers that those legs wouldn't feel anything anyway.

He loosens his tightened grip on Shizuo's hand in his, allowing the smallest of smirks to decorate his features when the beast does not stir under the addition and then lack of pressure. Izaya's thumb strokes the palm of Shizuo's tough and rugged hands, feeling the pad of his thumb rub of Shizuo's armor. He closes his fingers around Shizuo cautiously as the heat he held warmed Shizuo.

He narrows his eyes, feeling a strange serene feeling come over him, as if this moment were perfect and nothing could ever ruin it, for the time being, that is. He closes his eyes and listens to the music of Shizuo's breathing, in synch with his own. In taking breathe at exactly the same moments.

Inhale. Imagine, enemies such as themselves, living in such harmony, untouched by feuds in the past. Exhale. Untouched for the moment as Izaya concentrated on the feeling of Shizuo's big hand in his and breathing together.

Exhale. It is the simple acts such as these that draw them closer together, that glazes over old wounds with something Izaya would rather have, something he found far more worthwhile than any hate he could harbor.

Izaya does not want to hate this man. He embraces the change; he does not try to deny it.

But alas, like all good things, it does not last.

Shizuo coughs as he awakens, tired eyelids peeling away to reveal hostile chocolate orbs, contrasting the memory that Izaya wanted to hold onto. Shizuo says nothing but does not withdraw his hand, observing Izaya with wary eyes and the informant does not meet his gaze, choosing instead to keep his eyes trained on their hands conjoined, trying desperately to retrieve the moments of tranquility that he had felt before.

"What are you doing?" Shizuo growls grumpily as his eyebrows fall into the same frown that they had lived in for months now.

Izaya's steady calm does not waver, his small yet honest grin still in place as he answers. "What does it look like?" he whispers, unwilling to break the silence that had fallen over the room, like if he spoke too loudly or too soon, he might shatter the careful hush that had muffled them.

"It looks like you're holding my hand."

Izaya's smile grows a fraction of an inch. "Yes." He agrees. The smile is shrinking as the conversation continues; it cannot keep up against such immeasurable odds. The quiet atmosphere that they had created rapidly morphing as his smirk struggled to stay afloat, fighting a battle that not even the former serenity could win against.

His face resumes to the dejected mask that he wore that really wasn't a mask at all, as it came to merge with some of his deeper feelings, it became more of the truth, not just something that he repeatedly tried to deny, like if he crushed it down enough it would eventually go away.

He can't look at Shizuo without feeling disappointed because it wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this because he was supposed to be better and Shizuo was supposed to be super-human.

They both were at fault, and Izaya can't look at Shizuo without remembering that he failed. He failed to keep Shizuo angry and alive inside and now he was paying for it in the form of a man that only wanted to die.

Izaya is torn between the urge to assume the fetal position and hold his head against his knees and watch the world out of the corner of his eyes, and collapse on top of Shizuo's warm chest and spill his guts like he thought it might help him, change something that couldn't be helped. Izaya's not giving up.

The informant lifts Shizuo's hand with his own, holding at the wrist so Shizuo could see the palm of his own hardened hand. "See?" The brunette murmurs, "see this rough, cracked shield? It's made so nothing could hurt you…"

Shizuo tenses like he wants to pull away but Izaya keeps his grip firm as he continues "But I'm not letting you go just yet." Izaya adjusts his hand so his fingers link in Shizuo's. "No… I don't suppose I ever will." He mused.

Shizuo remains silent throughout his talk, and Izaya can feel his eyes burning into him, but he pushes past it. Izaya shifted his gaze to meet Shizuo's eyes; boring into them and watching them turn deeper and darker the longer he stared.

And Izaya smiles, gently, gracing his face with a soft smile of the guardian, the nurturer. "I mean it Shizuo," he continues earnestly, "Please try for me."

Shizuo's blank eyes watch him guardedly. "I don't know what you're going on about." He mumbles.

Izaya sighs, his free hand drawing loops on the bed spread. "For all my worth… I did not see this coming." He admits in a hushed tone. Ripping his gaze away and into one of the darker corners of the room, he resumed trying to sound sincere. "But I hate to see you like this. You're not alone; I'll be with you if no one else will."

"No." Shizuo disagrees, and then adding as an afterthought, "Why are you doing this? All of this, I mean."

"I told you already, and I really hate to repeat myself." Izaya said slowly, fishing for words. He really had no idea where he was going with this. He liked to have his words planned out, but he was improvising this time. Hopefully he wouldn't mess anything up too badly. "I'm going to give you something to life for."

"Why would you even begin to think that I would want to live for you?" Shizuo hissed in outrage, His eyes narrowing. "Our history together has never been particularly pleasant."

"Oh, but I believe we can change that." Izaya hummed, not missing a beat, picking up right where Shizuo left off. His tone was playing on a key that was somewhere between a seductive whisper and a harsh growl. It passes unnoticed by the blonde.

"How?" Shizuo spat, his eyes hollow, on the verge of surrender. He blinked slowly, peering at Izaya through disconsolate honey orbs that Izaya's come to hate.

"I will be there for you," Izaya breathed, the words catching in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. He needed to say this.

Izaya briefly wondered if he was doing the right thing, this wasn't the first time that he had caught himself acting on impulse, and it was because of that urge that he was in a situation like this in the first place. But that didn't matter, he decided right then and there, he had his part to play in solving this puzzle, and he'd be damned if he didn't.

They were both doing all they could, coping in different ways. But Izaya didn't bring them together just to have then live separately, he didn't bring Shizuo into his home in hopes of fixing him only to have his attempts heartlessly rejected.

Maybe this tactic would work, if Izaya could let himself fall into those sturdy arms, blindly without knowing if they would catch him or let him fall, that was the day that they could move forward. If Izaya could get him to open up, then maybe he would be able to understand his motives and close the gap of insecurity and loneliness that had come to be when he was alone. If Izaya could show him friendship… Then maybe, just maybe, their world would have hope for a better tomorrow.

"You don't know me." Shizuo rasped tiredly, "Go away, I want to be alone."

Izaya shook his head immediately, still thinking. He'd have to put his plan into action, as soon as possible is he wanted to get results. "Then I'll be alone with you. We'll be alone together."

_Why? Why are you like this?_

Izaya squeezed Shizuo's hand gently as he rose. "It's a brand new day Shizuo." Izaya whispered softly. "It's not too late for you."

_I won't let you fall._


	12. Foreign Emotions

**If you're wondering why there's a lightning storm in the middle of the winter… ask climate change. **

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><p>Izaya slowly closed his laptop, his eyes trained on Shizuo as the lightning illuminates them. He watches Shizuo flinch after every flash of light in the sky. He watches Shizuo's clenched hands tremble as he makes himself watch the light show.<p>

He wants to tear his gaze away, but the twisted side of his heart glues his gaze to the scene, makes him observe reactions and monitor every shaky breath Shizuo takes. A bellow of thunder and Shizuo seems to shrink into himself and Izaya cringes as he watches Shizuo suffer. But he can't make himself turn away.

He can't bear to see the once so strong man like this, quivering before the storm. To be reduced to someone so terribly _weak_ and _pathetic. _But this is something that he had vowed to change. This was someone that Izaya never wanted to see again.

Shizuo did not have to be alone. Izaya would not let him suffer by himself.

He stands in one fluid movement, gliding across the floor without a sound until his stood directly behind the blonde. He analyzes Shizuo's quick breathing, imagines wide mocha eyes, full of a fear that Izaya would pretend not to see, but know it was there all the same. Know it was there and know that he needed to change that.

His hands shot forward as another snarl sounded and Shizuo recoiled again. He gripped the back of the chair and spun it around with jerky movements, Shizuo's head snapping up as the wheels squeaked against the floor.

The blonde's hands clung to the wheel, stopping his movement short, Izaya released him and took a step back, now that he had accomplished his goal and Shizuo was facing him. He had Shizuo's attention. It was on him and not his memories and Izaya planned to keep it on him until the storm ended.

Shizuo and Izaya glowered at each other, silent battles of will, not once breaking trance. Trying to read each other and the only thing Izaya could think was that he didn't know how he even got into a situation like this at all.

Because the man in front of him wasn't Shizuo, it was a deflated, rotted, living ghost of a man he so desperately wanted back, it was a skittish animal that was still stubbornly hanging onto life though the odds were stacked against him and every fiber in his body told him to let go.

Izaya was a parasite that drilled its way into his heart and took residence there, he was that one last link to hold him together, the only anchor to bring him back to earth, he was someone that was not going anywhere until Shizuo was fixed and that was that.

Izaya was the flea that had corrupted the beast and invoked violence and hate in him whenever he appeared. Izaya was the man that would heal the beast and grant him unbreakable peace and belonging that he deserved.

"Stop looking at me like that." Shizuo interrupted his thoughts.

Izaya blinked. "Like what?"

The man before him scowled and twisted his head away, as if when he looked away Izaya would cease to exist. And when he looked back, he would be alone once more. "I dunno… You look sad." Shizuo muttered.

The informant looked down; as if when he looked away Shizuo would change and when he looked back, he would see someone he wanted to. As if all his problems would go away if, he refused to acknowledge them. "I am sad." He murmured simply.

Izaya took a shaky breath and continued, "I'm sad because I don't want to see you this way. I'm sad because you won't let me help you. I'm sad because there's so much that needs to be done and you aren't helping me. I'm…"

_I'm sad because I need you in my life and I don't know how to tell you. I'm sad because you could never return any feelings I might hold for you. I'm sad because I need to help you and it's so painful to see you like this. I'm sad because I want you and you don't want me._

Izaya bowed his head "I…" but the words dried up in his throat. "I can dodge anything you throw at me. I can run away from you and run and run and you'd never catch me… But I'm not running anymore. I'm here… for you." He opted, but the words rang flat into the air.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Not close enough to what he wanted to say, what he meant to say, but how could he bring something like that up when he wasn't sure if his feelings were true? What if his inner thoughts came out and Shizuo was disgusted by him? Then he would lose all chances of things returning to normal. It was too risky.

"No" Shizuo insisted, "It's something else, something you're not telling me."

_Damn, when did you become so good at reading people? Or am I getting soft?_

"That's all it is," Izaya lied, "That's… all there will ever be for us."

Shizuo was silent, mulling over his words as Izaya regretted every moment that passed. But in the back of his mind, he felt a half-hearted victory; Shizuo was occupied with him and unaware of the raging storm above their head.

"I…" Izaya choked, realizing that he had begun to say his thoughts aloud. "I can't…"

He clamped his mouth shut. Shizuo observed him, dark mocha eyes giving him all attention. Although, Izaya hated to think that Shizuo had the upper hand, he hated the loud uncomfortable silence that spanned between the two; he hated the urge he felt to keep talking and fill it up with his obscene babbling.

He hated that the longer he spoke the worse it made him sound and Shizuo knew it and that was why he was waiting for Izaya to finish a sentence he really didn't want to consider.

"Why aren't you trying?" Izaya whispered, going to another subject with a question that would force the brute to talk. He hated the lack of fight in a man who used to live enshrouded in violence and loud city nights, now sitting back and waiting for Izaya to give up on him and let him die.

"Why should I try?" Shizuo sighed. "There's nothing here for me, no matter how many times you tell me differently."

Izaya opened his mouth to respond, but Shizuo cut him off, picking up speed as he went on.

"Stop trying to deny it, stop making excuses Izaya." Shizuo's voice cracked. "Get over it. Let me go. I'm _broken. _What more do you want from me?"

"Shizuo-"

"But don't you see it? I don't need you." Shizuo finished, his gaze downcast, not able to meet the informant's eyes.

It was for that Izaya was glad, for then the brute could not see the shock and hurt reflected in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his throat was tightening and the only sound that would come out was an uneven croak.

"Shizuo." Izaya tried anyway, "Sometimes life hands you bad cards. Sometimes you're playing with all the kings and queens and sometimes you get the jokers. But that doesn't mean you give up. Life will move on. It will get better."

"Izaya." Shizuo said slowly. "Stop. Stop doing this. Stop doing this to me. Stop doing this to yourself. Stop trying so hard."

Shizuo lifted his head to meet Izaya's pain filled gaze and Izaya did not try to mask his emotions. He needed to be honest with himself and Shizuo, and hope that some of it will get through to him. He was not playing games.

"No" Izaya croaked, "I will never give up on you Shizuo. I will never stop fighting for you. I will be with you every step of the way."

"Why?"

_Why?_ "Because… Because I…" but the words would not come to him. He slumped his shoulders in defeats. "Because I have to. I have to." He repeated as if the more he said it the closer it would come the truth.

_I think I love you._

He remembered how it felt having Shizuo share his warmth the other day, how he had clutched his hand to his chest and nuzzled it against his face and how he wanted so much more than just a hand to hold. He remembered how right it had felt to hold the him so close to him.

He remembered the longing he had felt, the impulse to fit right into the crook of Shizuo's arm and press up against him as if he was meant to be there. He wanted to it like a puzzle piece next to Shizuo like it was made for him to be there. He wanted to feel his heartbeat. He remembered Shizuo's comforting scent, breathing it in and never wanting to let it go.

But he could not find the strength today. Not when Shizuo was so ready to deny him, shoot him down like his feelings were never there at all, like his words were just words and nothing all. Like his feelings meant nothing at all to him and they were just lies.

And there was nothing but the silence, a constant reminder of what should have been said and done but was not because Izaya was a coward and that would never change.


	13. Mission Accomplished

**This is it! The grand finale! Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it!**

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><p>Shizuo smiled. Izaya couldn't have been more proud.<p>

He had just finished with his last client for the day, and had quite a bit of leeway until his appointment with Shiki, in fact he had the whole afternoon to himself. Almost to himself, that is. He planned to share it with Shizuo, no matter how unwilling he was.

He was putting the next part of his plan into play, surrendering to his inner desires. He planned to channel all of his feelings into the brute, replacing any doubt or sadness that lived there.

Until Izaya was the only one for him, until the brute could feel the warmth of his love and accept it whole. Izaya was going to press on until the Shizuo felt safe and secure enough let go of his stubborn front and let love in.

It was a rather bold move, but Izaya was determined to make Shizuo see, so what better way than what he planned to do? He would reach him this time. Shizuo would see his love; he would see how true it was. He would see all of Izaya's truths for what they were and he would not be able to deny what his heart has been aching for so long. He approached stealthily, until he was directly in front of the blonde.

Shizuo's gaze focused on him warily. Izaya pushed his second thoughts aside and advanced, Shizuo retaliating by backing up – into the wall, he might add. Izaya relaxed his shoulders, crawling onto Shizuo's wheelchair, on top of him. And Shizuo braced himself, outstretching his arms on Izaya's shoulders to prevent him from coming any closer.

Izaya squirmed, trying to twist out of Shizuo's grip, but it was firm. Izaya pouted, grabbing Shizuo's wrist with his hands, he adjusted his posture until his knees were on each side of the blonde, straddling his hips. He tugged on Shizuo's arms to keep his balance, and possibly pull the brute closer to him, but with no avail, for Shizuo was intent on keeping his space.

Izaya gave up on the tug-of-war, nimbly slipping inside the gap between Shizuo's out stretched arms, for which the blonde responded by stubbornly attempting yet again to shove the informant off of him. Izaya squeezed with his lags, cementing him in place, so as far as he leaned back, his rigid back would prevent his gravity from taking control of his descent the farther he inclined.

It wasn't the first time, but he had overestimated himself, and that split second when he leaned too far, and his stiff back stopped supporting him and his flailing arms, winding like a windmill, did nothing to help him regain his balance, that Izaya was sure that he was going to smack into the floor headfirst. He was going to topple over with a lazy summersault until he was sprawled out onto the floor with nothing but a bruised ego and head.

But before any of his envisioned injuries come to be a reality, Shizuo snatches his skinny wrists, hauled him back into a sitting position, and released his grip once Izaya was safe in his lap once again.

"I should have let you crash onto the floor." Shizuo snorted, and Izaya could see the shock in his eyes, the surprise at what he had done, to actually help the man he continually tried to push away. He can see Shizuo's defenses cracking, any other day he would not have caught him.

Izaya grinned "But you saved me~" then his gaze darkened. "But I couldn't save you…"

An eyebrow twitched atop Shizuo's forehead. "What are you talking about?" he asked in mild confusion, caution settling into his brown eyes, all inner serenity vanished from the moment before.

The informant shook his head. "Forget it." He murmured. Detesting himself for spoiling the moment.

Shizuo looked down. Slouched and miserable despite the borderline happy feeling they had felt before. Izaya sighed, twisting his head so he could meet the blonde's bleak amber eyes. They looked at each other, sorrowful mahogany and distant russet, until Shizuo broke the peace once again, defiant and refusing to let it soothe the atmosphere Izaya was desperately trying to create.

"I know you're in there somewhere." Izaya told the side of Shizuo's head. Izaya snuggled closer, and Shizuo stiffened, bowing his head in submission, as if bracing himself to endure a punishment. As if he believed that the only reason someone would become close to him was to hurt him.

A part of Izaya's heart broke. "Look at me." He demanded in a whisper, shoving his face inches from Shizuo's. Lonely brown eyes gazing into his; and Izaya's heartstrings give a violent tug at the sight.

Coffee-colored eyes met his and Izaya nodded detachedly, a lump forming in his throat at how lost they seemed, the sheer defeat that ley in them. The informant laid his head on Shizuo's broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his hollow heart. "Better." He mused through narrowed eyes, "Apathy is not your style."

He sat up slowly as an idea struck, propping himself up with hands planted on each side of Shizuo's hear he looked the blonde square in the eyes, searching for some form of life, hoping for a connection to be made.

"Focus on me." Izaya breathed, watching the shadows flicker across Shizuo's eyes, the doorway to the soul.

He caught the blonde's eyes as they start to drift away. "Listen to me." He continued seriously, Shizuo observed him with dead eyes. Izaya noticed with a shudder that those dark eyes were transfixed on his lips; it was enough to send a shiver of thrill down his spine.

"No more." He offered a shy grimace, but it faded away almost as fast as it appeared. He let it die.

Catching Izaya unprepared, a single tear bubbled up from around those guarded orbs, silently rolling down Shizuo's cheek.

Another part of Izaya's heart chips off. Alarm erupts from under his skin as he fears another breakdown, but it does not come. Shizuo reaches up to brush it away with the heel of his palm, but Izaya is swifter, his eyes glazed as he leisurely drags the pad of his thumb across Shizuo's pale smooth complexion, catching the lone tear and feeling it's warmth sink into the creases of his thumb-print.

Izaya trails his thumb across the bridge of his nose, down his narrow jawline, eyes half lidded. He traced Shizuo's soft lips, pausing ever so slightly that it was almost unperceivable. He takes his thumb away and keeps his eyes down cast, ashamed that he could ever be foolish enough to allow such hope that things like that would ever come to be.

He thinks of all the pain Shizuo went through, alone in all sorts with no one that could relate to the turmoil that he was thrown into, and when he needed someone to stay by his side no one was. He tried to go so far by himself, when he needed somebody to help him heal, see him through; no one was there for him.

How he struggled alone, elapsed and lost in all parts of his mind and heart, and there was no hope of a dawn, because it is an impossible task alone. However, he is not alone. Not anymore. Izaya will undo all the loathing he has for himself and his handicap, Izaya will undo all the lies that he told himself, Izaya was going to help him change for the better.

Shizuo's hand is still raised, as if he had forgotten what he was going to do when he picked it up. His wide hand clasped around Izaya's, enclosing it for a tender moment, not daring to put any pressure on it out of fear of it shattering beneath his destructive hands. He releases it abruptly after a second thought.

Izaya ripped himself away from his thoughts and glanced up at Shizuo wondering and encouraging eyes. A gentle smile graces his lips, and though the words are unspoken, they both can hear it, feel it in the air around them. _Go for it!_

He glanced up at Izaya as if to ask for permission and Izaya granted it, answering by taking Shizuo's hand in his own, in a loose grip accompanied by a gentle squeeze. Shizuo's eyes are half-lidded and thoughtful; eventually he reaches a consensus and pushes all inhibitions aside.

Shizuo closes the gap between them and Izaya meets him halfway, meeting the blonde's soft lips with his own. A part of him is surprised that Shizuo made the first move, but glad to, because now they can move forward. The kiss is slow and comforting; Izaya breathes Shizuo's scent through his nose and wants nothing more than him at the moment.

The informant doesn't know if Shizuo can hear his pounding heart battering against his ribcage, all he knows, is that this was the first thing that seemed right since Shizuo started living with him.

There was no more of that negative sinking feeling in him, that every step was a step backwards, that every move was wrong and forced, it was a light and mellow feeling, a fidelity that Izaya would hold onto forevermore.

The placid moment spans seemingly forever and Izaya is lost in Shizuo, exploring every inch of his mouth, massaging gums and tangling with Shizuo's tongue in his mouth, hesitant yet yearning. He gives into it, feeling Shizuo's teeth against his and unconsciously wrapping his arms around Shizuo's neck to bring them nearer.

He feels the blonde's strong arms around him gliding down to rest on the small of his back, gingerly drawing him in closer and nothing feels more right at the moment than being with him.

They break apart, arms still wrapped around each other, savoring the feel of one's lips on theirs. Izaya rests his forehead against Shizuo's, lost in his kind yet complicated golden eyes, all shadows of doubt and brooding clear from them for the first time in a while.

Izaya laughs quietly, truly laughs sincerely, and it is light and musical in Shizuo's ears, and though he doesn't know it at the moment, Shizuo plans to hear it again sometime.

The blonde's face splits into an sweet yet irresistible grin, growing as Izaya calms, breaking through the hardened shell he tried so hard to keep up to protect himself. It was not a smirk, nor a sneer, an honest smile, breaking through all walls that held it contained. The smile is pure and the weight of his life altering events makes it shines all the brighter.

It is dazzling, and for the first time in moons, Shizuo does not feel weighed down by his experiences, he actually believed every word that Izaya had told him since he came, that it was all right, and he was going to help him get past this.

He could remember his accident, his dark times, for they were a part of him, and though he would never forget, maybe he could start letting go of all the self-hate festering inside. Let it slip away between his fingers, and it will not be missed, for the only thing to represent them would scars from a distant time.

They would have their ups and downs, as couples do, but at the moment all Shizuo knows is that he is finally free, not in all aspects, but his burdens were not so heavy and he was light and he got through this. His life was drastically changed and he survived.

He survived and even if he isn't better off, it brought him in Izaya together, enemies into friends, connecting them in ways unimaginable before his accident.

For Izaya, it is impending relief because all his efforts were not for nothing, he actually got through to the man, finally, and he accepted him back. That there was nowhere for them to go but forward, and Izaya would be with him every step of the way.

There were no more misgivings or uncertainty, no more feeling as if he was wandering in the dark, no more _What if?_ Or _what next?_ Only this moment, magical, perfect and beautiful all on its own and Izaya never wanted to let it go.

Shizuo moved his head so that he spoke directly into Izaya's ear. "I have made a decision," he breathed into Izaya's ear, "and I think I want to be with you. If you'll have me, that is."

"Of course," Izaya sung back in the same low tone, cherishing the moment, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

_Fate has tied us together. Change is on the horizon, and it is for the better._

.

.

.

.

_End_


End file.
